Sketches
by AntiThesis101
Summary: Rough sketches of characters, ideas, storylines. In other words, a drabble dump. Canon/AU; canon pairings. Sketch Thirteen: Dreamscapes. Time passes, and Kenshin dreams on.
1. On Love

A/N 1: Er, hello! *waves sheepishly* Since I don't really have much quality time with the computer nowadays but tons with boredom, I decided that (really short) drabbles were the way to go! I have several of these almost completed already, and they range wildly from canon-introspection to AU-humor.

Anyway, enough for now, onwards to the drabble!

**Sketch One: On Love**

_What do you think of when you think about love? The Kenshin-gumi answers._

* * *

When she thinks about love the first thing that comes to mind is not, as everyone would expect, Kenshin. No, she is an optimist at heart, one who firmly believes in love, and she likes to think that true love is more than the constant _doubt_ that plagues her and Kenshin's relationship. When she thinks about love she thinks about her father, on the day that he handed her a new bokken, declared her shihandai of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu and told her, "Remember, hime, that as long as you have the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu, you have me." To her, love was that moment, when she knew with such absolute certainty that she would never be alone, that her father would always be there for her, that she would always be, in one way or another, _wanted_.

* * *

He thinks of love and pride as interchangeable things. When his father proudly told him, just before he left to fight for a cause he only half-believed in, that he would grow to be a great samurai – that was love. When his mother, amidst her wheezing coughs, whispered to him that she was proud of him – that was love. When Kenshin looked at him with pride in his gaze after finding out that he had defeated Henya all on his own – that was, he likes to believe, love. And when he felt so much _shame_ for not being there where Kaoru had 'died', and later for believing that she really did – that was most definitely, undoubtedly, love.

* * *

He doesn't think much about love. To him, love is like flat feet – some people have it, some people don't. But he has seen great instances of love, moments that make him just a little envious and, more often than not, regretful for not having it. When he thinks of love – the great, all-encompassing sort – he remembers Captain Sagara's love for the common man. To desire something better for the people you love, to fight for them and then die for them, surely that was love, as pure as it comes. Some days, when he's particularly drunk, he would collapse on the dojo porch and stare up at the stars, wondering when it would be his turn to have love.

* * *

She thinks of love and scoffs, because she doesn't believe in love – at least, not the kind of eternal, everlasting love that people, especially certain tanuki girls, seem to believe so wholeheartedly in. She thinks love, like so many other things, is ephemeral – there one day and gone the next, just like her family. But even though she doesn't believe in endless love, she sometimes wonders, alone in the clinic, if temporary love could possibly give her enough happiness to tide her over the rest of her life. If _forever_ wasn't possible, then maybe she could just make do with _for now_.

* * *

He doesn't like thinking about love. Because it reminds him of everything he had lost…

And now, everything he _could_ lose. And that thought scares him far more than anything he has encountered in his life.

* * *

A/N 2: I think I've made it pretty obvious who's who, right? I just hope that they don't sound like one single character at different moments in his/her life…Unfortunately, I'm not really good at writing distinct voices. Which brings me to my next point… I'm in need of a beta reader so I can get these drabbles up asap (if left to my own devices, I would re-read them over and over again before I actually post anything). So if you're interested in beta-ing for little ole me, feel free to email me with anything you've written before.

Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviewing would make me happy and more likely to post more!


	2. Only Human

A/N 1: Hello! I was supposed to post this sometime in October, but… I couldn't resist. I thought something fun and light would be a nice breather from the other, er, less light drabbles I've planned. As for the inspiration behind this, well, the first time I read Twilight, I thought I was reading a Vampire!Kenshin fic, except that Kenshin and Kaoru's names were inexplicably changed to Edward and Bella. I mean, seriously, golden eyes and copper-bronze hair? Is Stephanie Meyer a closet Kenshin fan? Twilight read like a typical vampire fic, but from New Moon onwards, well, I personally thought that the story descended into the shadowy realm of bad!fics. It wasn't pretty, but it was incredibly amusing. I love reading those books for the lulz.

Anyway, enough of the ranting, on to the drabble!

Disclaimer: (I realized I forgot to write one for the previous drabble, oh well.) I don't own Rurouni Kenshin, and I sure as hell don't want to own the Twilight Saga.

**Sketch Two: Only Human**

_It's Halloween, and Kaoru is getting tired of all the Edward Cullens around._

* * *

"May I have this dance, milady?"

Kaoru looked up from where she had been observing a punch bowl labeled "_BLAAAAHD!_". Amber eyes glinted back at her, and for a moment she was taken aback by their intensity. Then she took in the rest of his outfit and snorted.

"Nice contacts. But wouldn't you rather dance with one of the Bellas, _Edward_?" She jerked her head in the direction of a particularly scantily-clad Bella across the dance floor.

Honestly, this was the ninth Twilight vampire she'd encountered at the Halloween party. She guessed there were mainly two reasons why so many guys seemed to enjoy dressing up as Twilight vampires: 1) It was easy on pocket – you didn't really need a costume, all you had to do was slap on some white powder, and 2) It was easy to pick up ditzy girls looking for trendy undead boyfriends.

Well, she wasn't a ditzy girl and she wasn't looking for undead boyfriends, however trendy they may be. But, she had to give this guy some credit – out of the many that she had glimpsed that night, he was the only one who seemed to be pulling off the whole vampire look. Pale, almost translucent skin, glowing amber eyes and long, luxurious red hair tied in a high ponytail, this androgynously beautiful man really looked like he belonged on the set of one of the Twilight movies. She didn't really get the tuxedo and the cross-shaped scar on his cheek though – was this an Edward who got into a gang fight before going to prom?

He was looking in the direction she had indicated earlier, and when Slutty Bella winked at him and gave him what she supposed was a _come hither_ stare, he winced and looked back at her. For some reason, Kaoru was glad that he had cringed.

"No, definitely not. I would rather dance with a _real_ lady." He picked her hand up and gently brushed his lips over her skin, one of his fangs lightly grazing her knuckles before he released her hand.

Kaoru barely suppressed a shiver. Yes, she definitely had to give this guy props for his ability to pull the look off – fangs and all.

"Well, I'm not really a lady," she gestured at her black cat ears and tail, "In fact, I'm not even human tonight."

He chuckled, mouth curving into a roguish grin. Kaoru wondered if she could make that smile illegal on the grounds that it could stop someone's heart on the spot.

"Neither am I. But I know a lady when I see one, and it would be my honor and _pleasure_," the way he rolled that word off his tongue made Kaoru want to ban it as well, "to take her out for a spin on the dance floor. So what say you, kitten? I'll keep pestering you if you don't agree."

"Well…" Who was she to say no? If Misao were here she would have already agreed on her behalf. He _was_ attractive, and she _was_ tired of hanging around the macabre food…

She looked at him, grinned, and dipped into a curtsy. "Well, Mr Cullen, you've got yourself a dance partner. Just watch the tail, okay?"

He laughed and led her onto the dance floor. For the first time that night, Kaoru was glad that she had turned up at the party.

* * *

The party had ended a few hours ago and Kaoru was stuck with the aftermath. Because she was, in the words of a cunning fox, _the hostess' best friend_. Tying up the last trash bag more violently than was strictly necessary, she sighed.

The party hadn't turned out as bad as she had thought it would be. That could've been because of the better food this year (Sano wasn't in charge), but Kaoru was quite sure it was because of the better company.

That vampire – whom she had dubbed Edward Cullen and had seemed content to leave his name a mystery – was a _really_ good dancer. Forget the fact that he had led her through a few complicated dance steps that she didn't even know she was capable of – the fact that her tail hadn't been stepped on (by either him or the other dancers) the entire night was a testament to his skill on the dance floor. He was a good conversationalist as well – he kept her entertained with his remarks on various people's costumes (Slutty Bella wasn't the only disaster of the night) and they had discussed their views on an array of things, ranging from their favorite movies to world news (although she personally thought that his comments on the country's politics were a bit too extreme). To top it all off, he wasn't very hard to look at either.

So when the party ended and he had to leave to attend to some business (_Really? At this time?)_, she had only hesitated slightly before giving him her phone number and a promise to have dinner some time.

"Hey, Megumi, I'll drop off the last of the trash in the dumpster and then head off, okay?"

"Yeah sure. Thanks, Kaoru."

Grabbing her purse from the corner of the room and bidding Sano farewell (he was desperately trying to finish all the food so none would go to waste), Kaoru shrugged on her coat, picked up the last few trash bags and headed outside.

It was past midnight and the full moon hung brightly overhead, casting a pale silver hue onto the dark corners of the street that weren't illuminated by the streetlamp. Kaoru paused on her way to the dumpster, taking in the glinting stars and inhaling the night air, absent-mindedly hoping to herself that the city would never change. Turning into a small alley at the side of the building, she caught a glimpse of something shiny out of the corner of her eye. Glancing in that direction, fully expecting to see a piece of scrap metal or something of that sort, she dropped her trash bags in shock when she realized that she wasn't looking at scrap metal, but a sword as it slid neatly through a man's chest.

The empty beer cans in the trash bags clattered as they met the floor, and before Kaoru could even _feel_ the attention of the one wielding the sword, she had turned around and bolted towards the streetlamp.

The lamp wasn't very far away, but it felt like an eternity of running, her heart pounding agonizingly slowly in her ears, felt shoes slapping the pavement noisily (she _knew_ she should've changed out of her costume) and hairs on the back of her neck standing, hyperaware of the presence behind her. Just as she got within the circle of muted light cast by the streetlamp, she felt a hand grab her arm and spin her around. _Wait…Wasn't he at the end of the alley? _She vaguely thought that this person's skills would have been put to better use as a national athlete or something. _Not that his sword skills are any worse… _

But all her thoughts of asking the man to drop murder and turn to kendo vanished in an instant when she was met with striking amber eyes, crimson hair and – her eyes traveled to his cheek – a cross-shaped scar.

Her mind went into overdrive.

_Okay, let's see. He's really pale. Check. He's incredibly fast. Check. He knows how to use his fangs. Double check. And weren't his hands kinda cold when you danced with him? And why am I only noticing that he isn't wearing contacts _now?_ What kind of_ human being _has_ amber _eyes anyway?_

…

"Oh my god, you're a _vampire_!" Kaoru blurted out the first thing that came to her mind.

A low chuckle (Kaoru tried to suppress a shiver, _again_), then an arm snaked around her waist, bringing her flush against him.

"Oh _no_, kitten," he breathed, breath ghosting along the rim of her ear. Kaoru could feel his body warming hers through the thin barrier of their clothes. "I'm most definitely human."

Kaoru didn't know which was worse: The fact that he could have been a vampire, or the fact that he was _only human_.

* * *

A/N 2: Heh. I guess the only part of Twilight Kenshin saw/read was the end, when they went to prom. This is a kind of shout out to all the vampire!Kenshin fics out there. Don't get me wrong, I always love a good vampire fic (check out Aryanne's Silver Cross if you haven't, it's the best in the fandom, and proves that falling in love with a hot vampire doesn't mean sacrificing your morals), but why can't he be _human_? Just a really sexy one with odd coloring?

I'm so sorry, I got carried away again. This isn't really endearing me to anyone, is it? Oh man, and here I am still on a lookout for a beta…

Anyway, reviews are greatly appreciated and rewarded with virtual cookies! And many many thanks to those who reviewed/alerted/favorited the previous drabble! You guys keep me going, really.


	3. Routine

A/N 1: Hi! So I'm back with another drabble! I actually have a few others on the back burner, but for some reason I really wanted to publish this idea first. I only really started on it today, so if you spot any grammatical errors, or if things don't flow as smoothly, please forgive me!

And now friends, we move onwards!

Disclaimer: ...I wish.

**Sketch Three: ****Routine**

_What does it take to break a routine? A simple question._

* * *

They lay in bed every night with eyes wide open, absent-mindedly chasing moving shadows across the ceiling. Neither were sleeping; both knew it. But neither would admit it.

It was a routine. In the morning both would wake at the same time, and neither would acknowledge the dark shadows under each other's eyes. He would cook breakfast and she would set the table, and then they would both eat. He would go to work, and so would she. In the evening they would return to the house, eat, take turns in the shower and finally lie in the same bed, quiet.

Nothing but mechanical pleasantries will pass between them the entire time, the words hollow and echoing about the empty house. It was a routine.

That night, it was raining. Raindrops thrummed on their bedroom window like impatient fingers drumming on a tabletop. _Tap. Tap, tap, tap._ They ignored it. They ignored each other. _Tap. Tap, tap, tap._ This was also routine.

She wondered what had happened in between _then_ and _now._ Like fireworks, their relationship had burst into life, blinding colors of passionate emotions mixing and blending into an exhilarating spectacle. Then time passed and the lights faded, and all that was left were the blurry afterimages burned onto the back of their eyelids.

That night, she spoke. It was not routine.

"_Are you happy?"_

Her whisper could have barely been heard over the insistent sound of raindrops on their window, but she knew that he had heard it. Because for the first time since she could remember, her words did not echo about the house but reverberated around the room, filling it.

She continued staring at the ceiling. He shifted, but did not say anything. They remained in silence the rest of the night. _Tap. Tap, tap, tap. _That was routine.

* * *

The next night she lay in bed, silent. Once again her eyes found the ceiling, tracing hairline cracks in the paint. She wondered how many cracks it would take for the paint to peel off entirely, revealing the ugly cold gray ceiling underneath. This was routine.

He, however, had turned to face her the minute she settled under the covers. That was not routine.

She felt his eyes study her, but did not turn around. What was the point when all that she would be met with were a pair of inscrutable eyes and an indecipherable expression? The mystery that shrouded his thoughts and motives had been alluring at first, in the way that puzzles were appealing. But now… Now it was just frustrating. So her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling while his remained fixed on her, and time passed in a hush that was almost undisturbed if not for the undercurrent of _something_ that hung in the air, waiting. _Tap. Tap, tap, tap_. It had begun raining outside again.

It was not until her eyes had closed and mind had drifted into half-wakefulness that he spoke, two words ringing in the air that was no longer still. She would not have thought that he had spoken at all, as drowsy as she was, and would have chalked it all up to a dream if not for the sensation of his breath on her ear, gently stirring the hair at her temples. And the barely hidden emotion that throbbed underneath his words.

"_Are you?"_

That was not routine.

They woke when the sun rose the next day. The rain had stopped sometime during the night. Neither acknowledged the words spoken in the dark, leaving them there for the shadows to pick on. That was routine.

* * *

The third night they took turns in the shower. He went first. When she came out of the bathroom, toweling her hair dry, it had started raining again and he was already in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling but focused inwards. _Tap. Tap, tap, tap. _That was routine.

She climbed into the bed once her hair was dry, turning the lamp on the bedside table off as she did. The room plunged into semi-darkness, the only illumination coming from the street lamps outside, filtered through the raindrops on the window. But she did not lie down. Instead, she leaned her back against the headboard, eyes on the window as the rain landed on it, drop by drop. _Tap. Tap, tap, tap. _Her mind played his question from the previous night over and over again. _Are you? Are you, are you, are you? _Did it matter to him if she wasn't? _Are you? Are you, are you, are you? _Well, she wasn't. She _wasn't_ happy, but she wasn't _un_happy either. Just numb. And tired. Tired of the routine that strung them along like marionettes, turning them into nothing more than shells of their former selves.

And because she was numb, and frustrated, and just so damn _tired_, she broke the routine for the second time since it started and dropped her gaze down to him just as he turned to look at her.

"I _want_ to be happy," she told him, her voice and eyes filled with a conviction that was as familiar and nostalgic as a reunion with an old friend.

He must have felt something then as well, because something in his eyes suddenly shifted. And before she knew it his thumb was stroking her cheek as his mouth covered hers, hot and slightly demanding, and her leg was thrown over his as she fisted her hand in his hair, nails lightly scraping against his scalp. It wasn't like fireworks – she didn't see sparks as their tongues tangled, didn't feel that electric thrill race down her spine as he slipped the oversized T-shirt over her head – but it was _something_. For the first time since the routine had started she felt something, something for this man who was rough with his mouth but gentle with his hands, whose eyes glowed with barely contained emotions that she still couldn't interpret, who was there with her and would always be there with her, in sickness and in health, through unhappiness and bone-deep weariness.

That night, they fell asleep facing each other. _Tap. Tap, tap, tap. _That was not routine.

* * *

The next morning she woke to a tangle of limbs. His hand was lightly stroking her hair and one of hers was thrown over his waist. Their legs were still entwined underneath the bed sheets. That was not routine.

Slowly, languorously, she lifted her eyes to meet his, half-afraid to find out what she would see there. But as their eyes locked fear gave way to surprise – she saw her own conviction and determination from the previous night mirrored back at her, his gaze hard and yet so unbearably gentle as he formed his next words –

"_Let's try."_

And for the first time in a very long time something akin to happiness and hope welled up from somewhere deep within her, blooming across her lips in a small, tremulous smile that was reflected in his suddenly clear and vulnerable eyes.

"Okay," she said, lacing her fingers through his. His hand tightened around hers in response. _Okay. Okay, okay, okay._

It was not routine. And right then, it was enough for them.

* * *

A/N 2: Thank you for reading! I must admit, I particularly love this drabble because of the theme involved. If you haven't already figured it out, I have a fondness for writing about relationships that go awry simply due to a lack of communication. Not only do I find it realistic, it's also a simple problem – but one with very difficult solutions. And I guess it's also partly because I'm not very good at real life, authentic communication myself.

Anyway, thanks for all the reviews and favs and alerts so far! You guys are awesome and get virtual cookies, as promised! People who review this time get virtual Kenshin plushies! Yay! As you can tell, reviews are my motivation to continue uploading my drabbles. Yes, unfortunately, I am _that_ sad and pathetic. Sigh.


	4. Hot and Cold

A/N 1: Hello there! I know I haven't updated in ages, despite me saying that I have several drabbles on the backburner. Well, I have several _unfinished_ ones on the backburner. Some are finished but missing… _something. _Yeah, so… you get my drift. Anyway, after all the AU drabbles, here's a relatively long one (the longest, if I'm not wrong) set in the canon-verse! And it doesn't revolve around K/K (although if you squint _real_ hard, you might find something.)!

Now we move forwards!

Disclaimer: Maybe if I pray _real_ hard… Nah.

**Sketch Four: ****Hot and Cold**

_Yahiko settles. Kaoru fumes. Kenshin intervenes. _

* * *

"You've got to loosen your wrist, Yahiko! _Mou_! This is the seventh time you're tightening your grip! You've got to loosen it to get more flexibility in your follow-up swing!"

Yahiko grit his teeth as Kaoru came at him again, bokken poised high above her head, "I'm _trying_!"

The wooden swords connected with a piercing _crack_, and a moment later Yahiko fluidly pivoted on one foot to deliver the counterattack. Kaoru's bokken met his shinai just as he swung out of his arc, but before he could even register the slight ache in his wrist his shinai had flown toward the far end of the dojo.

"Then try _harder_, Yahiko."

"Busu," he muttered under his breath.

As he turned around to retrieve his shinai, he caught something flying at him from the corner of his eyes. Before he could react, however, Kaoru's bokken had bounced off the back of his head, leaving a throbbing bruise behind.

"That's for calling me busu, you brat! Now get your shinai and my bokken and let's try this again!"

"I'm not your slave!"

"But you _are_ my student! And I'm your sensei, so do as you're told!"

Upset, exhausted and utterly frustrated by his lack of progress today, Yahiko rubbed his head as he retorted, "_Sensei_? Yeah, maybe I'll learn faster if you were a better sensei, busu!"

"What did you say?"

He picked up her bokken and tossed it back to her. "I said," his words barely made it out through clenched teeth, "maybe the problem doesn't lie with me. Maybe it's just _you_!"

Kaoru's face flushed an unflattering shade of red, "Why, you-"

"And why am I learning from _you _anyway? I never wanted to learn the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu in the first place!" He stomped across the dojo toward his shinai. Irritation crept into his voice as he let his annoyance at himself loose. "I wanted to learn the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu! It's way cooler, and I bet Kenshin's a much better teacher than some _busu_! Instead I had to settle for _this_ just because Kenshin refused to teach me! I bet Hiko-"

Yahiko abruptly bit off the last of his sentence when he realized just how unnaturally quiet Kaoru had become. He turned to face her, ready to release some other retort, or defend against another thrown bokken, but all thoughts fled his head when his eyes met hers.

Her gaze was hard and steely, and while her eyes usually reminded Yahiko of the sky, or even the roiling oceans when she was mad, this time the only comparison he could make was to ice. For the first time, Yahiko felt the warmth seep out of him as Kaoru stared him down, eyes cutting, accusatory, and at the same time…_disappointed_?

"You're right," she began softly, so unlike her that Yahiko took an involuntary step backward, "maybe it _is_ my fault. Maybe the blame rests entirely upon my shoulders-"

"Hey now, Kaoru, no need to put yourself down-" Yahiko began slightly guiltily. If Kaoru started crying…

But then she continued, in that same tone, only her voice was louder now, harder, "For being _naïve_ enough to think that my pupil didn't need to be taught the most basic concept of kenjutsu. If that's what you think, Yahiko, if you think that by practicing the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu you're _settling_, then by all means leave. You won't be able to go any further, and I have nothing to teach you any longer."

And with that, she walked over to the side of the dojo, placed her bokken back on the rack, and turned to leave. Her steps echoed around the suddenly cold and silent hall; Yahiko's eyes were still wide with disbelief. She paused at the entryway with one hand on the sliding door, head slightly tilted over her shoulder and Yahiko looked at her back expectantly. Then, with a barely audible sigh, she walked out of the dojo.

* * *

The next morning, Yahiko waited in the dojo for his morning lessons.

Kaoru never showed up.

Alone in the dojo, Yahiko clenched his fists, fighting the inexplicable shame that burned through his veins.

* * *

It had been a week since that lesson in the dojo, and Kaoru still had not given him any lessons. This was the longest he had ever gone without a lesson since he came to the Kamiya dojo, and it was driving him up the wall.

"Stupid, _stupid_ hag, who does she think she is?" He was sweeping the dojo porch, because although Kaoru had stopped his lessons, she hadn't abstained from giving him chores to do, albeit through a third party. And Yahiko didn't really want to incur any more ire than he guessed he had a week ago.

The week had been…awkward. Kaoru was her same old self, or at least, her usual self when it came to Kenshin, Sano and Megumi. But Yahiko had noticed that she refrained from talking to him, sometimes even going as far as to avoid him. She never set foot in the dojo when he was around, but he knew that she practiced while he was working at the Akabeko. Yahiko had tried to tolerate this strange behavior the best he could, but yesterday he finally snapped, and decided to confront her about it. She had only said one thing in reply.

"_If you can't figure it out on your own, Yahiko, then there's no point in any further lessons."_

What the hell had she meant by that? What was he supposed to be figuring out? Fingers tightening on the broom, Yahiko scowled darkly in the direction of Kaoru's room. Maybe he could ask Kenshin? The rurouni had always offered sound advice when he needed it... But Kaoru said that he had to figure it out on his own. And he knew that if he did ask Kenshin, she would find out sooner or later, and he wouldn't have his lessons either way. _So what now?_

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had a shift at the Akabeko this afternoon. Deciding to eat first and think later, Yahiko chucked the broom next to the well and left for the Akabeko.

* * *

"Kenshin?"

It was nearing the end of his shift when Yahiko spotted the redhead from the far end of the Akabeko. Only one man in the entire Tokyo had hair that color.

"Ah, there you are, Yahiko." Kenshin beckoned him over, turning to look sheepishly at Tae as Yahiko drew closer.

"Tae-dono, can this one borrow Yahiko for the rest of the day?"

"What for, Kenshin-han? There's still a half hour left of his shift."

"This one apologizes, Tae-dono, but this one feels that it's time that Yahiko-"

The rest of Kenshin's sentence was rendered inaudible as a nearby waitress accidentally dropped a bowl. It shattered when it met the floor, and whatever Tae said in response was lost in the calls for a broom to sweep up the mess. Sidestepping the ceramic shards and hurrying up towards Kenshin and Tae, Yahiko only managed to catch the last of Tae's sentence.

"-and she's really stubborn about this."

Kenshin smiled, a sort of faraway smile that Yahiko couldn't really decipher. "Yes, she is. Thank you, Tae-dono, we shall be going now."

Swiftly grabbing Yahiko by the arm, Kenshin proceeded to drag him out of the Akabeko, apron and all.

"Hey, wait, Kenshin! What's going on?" Yahiko struggled as he tried to remove the apron. Kenshin didn't reply, but he had released his arm. Walking beside the rurouni as he pulled the apron over his head, Yahiko noticed that the redhead was walking at a faster pace than usual. "Why the rush?"

They were already on the bridge and Yahiko could see the dirt path to the dojo ahead. The sun was starting to set, and it set Kenshin's hair ablaze. "Why are we going back to the dojo?" Yahiko frowned, trying to make sense of the rurouni's bizarre behavior. Then something occurred to him. "Is there something wrong? Is Kaoru okay?"

The name seemed to have snapped Kenshin out of whatever thoughts he had been immersed in. "Kaoru-dono? Oh, she is well. However," and here Kenshin's face grew serious, "Yahiko, do you know why Kaoru-dono refuses to teach you?"

Yahiko crossed his arms and huffed. "No. But I think it's that time of the month or something."

A corner of Kenshin's mouth twitched. "Her mood swings have been rather drastic this week… But in all seriousness, Yahiko, do you know why?"

"No! I don't! But that's the whole point, isn't it? Because I don't know why she stopped giving me lessons, she isn't giving me any lessons! Why can't you teach me the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, Kenshin?" Yahiko sounded petulant even to his own ears.

It was Kenshin's turn to frown this time. "I do not intend to pass the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu on to anyone, Yahiko, least of all to you." He paused. "Have you seen Kaoru-dono practice her kata before, Yahiko?"

Yahiko was so thrown off by the question that he didn't linger much on the sting of Kenshin's previous words. They were at the dojo gates now.

"Obviously."

"Good. Then you know how skilled she is," he motioned him towards the dojo hall, "But this time, I want you to _feel_ her practice her kata. Then I think you will understand why she has refused to give you any lessons."

Looking skeptically over his shoulder at Kenshin, Yahiko moved towards the dojo doors, which had been thrown wide open to let the cool evening breeze in. Kaoru was at the centre, going through the motions of an advanced kata which he already knew the basics of.

Yahiko knew that Kaoru was skilled in kenjutsu. He had never really doubted her abilities after their first few lessons. It was just that everyone else – Kenshin, Sano, Saitou and all the other bad guys – were so strong that it often left Kaoru's own strength weak in comparison. So he wasn't surprised to see her move the way she did, with strength in each strike and fluidity in every movement of her muscles. The Kamiya Kasshin Ryu was a good school, Yahiko knew, one that leant more on flexibility and defense as opposed to strength and attacks. And he was happy learning it – proud, even. But it wasn't as…_cool_ as the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. The countless battles he had seen Kenshin participate in further proved this. From the god-like speed to the many aerial attacks – even the most basic battoujutsu was cool when it was done Hiten Mitsurugi-style. Compared to this, the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu seemed so… _grounded. _So mundane and simple that Yahiko couldn't help but sometimes try out some Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu moves on his own in private, just so he could feel what it was like to soar on dragon wings. The Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu seemed so effortless all the time, like wind rushing across the earth, heedless of the obstacles in its way.

Kaoru let out a loud battle cry as she swung her bokken downwards in a strong, sharp strike that would have broken an opponent's wrist bones. Yahiko refocused his attention on her, noticing the way sweat plastered her bangs to her forehead, and the way her breath came in short bursts through slightly parted lips. He sighed. _The Kamiya Kasshin Ryu, on the other hand, has effort written all over it._

Kaoru was nearing the end of her kata, but she still hadn't noticed him at the door, as absorbed as she was in it. He didn't know what Kenshin wanted him to see here. It was nothing that he hadn't seen before, nothing that he hadn't known before.

"_I want you to _feel_ her practice her kata."_

Furrowing his eyebrows, Yahiko wondered if Kenshin was kidding. But Kenshin hardly ever joked, and he looked serious enough when he said it. Sighing for the umpteenth time that day, Yahiko closed his eyes and decided to give Kenshin's dubious advice a try.

Standing there at the edge of the dojo doors, spying on Kaoru with his eyes closed, the only thing Yahiko felt was stupid. All he could hear were Kaoru's footsteps on the polished wooden floors, her slight pants as she moved on to the more vigorous stage of the kata, and the swish of her bokken as it sliced through the air. He could smell the familiar scent of sweat and wax and wood, and the slight smell of Kaoru's jasmine bath soap. Aided by the sounds her clothes and feet and bokken made, Yahiko imagined Kaoru's movements in his mind's eye – a pivot here, a jab there, followed by an upward strike and then a slight shift in stance to the defensive position… He imagined her face, the way her mouth would be set in grim determination, the way her eyes would shine with challenge, the way her ki-

And then he felt it. He could never manipulate ki the way Kenshin did, but like all swordsmen he could _feel_ it. And Kaoru's ki felt vibrant and determined and…_hot_. It was like standing too close to a bonfire– just a step further and you knew that you would get burnt. And it was in that moment, sweat beading on his forehead as he felt Kaoru's hot ki wash all over him that he _knew_ – his ki was the same.

The Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu was like the wind – it was effortless, it was cool, but at the same time it was cold and distant. The way Kenshin and Hiko wielded the sword, he realized now, was the way they had been taught to wield it through the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu – coolly and distantly. There had always been a certain detachment in the way Kenshin and Hiko practiced their sword style, a certain incomprehensible distance in the way they handled their swords and fought. And that was maybe why the style seemed to make everything seem so effortless. That didn't mean that they didn't fight passionately, of course – Yahiko had seen enough to know that Kenshin poured his _soul_ into every important battle – it just meant that in the end, the swordsman could walk away from his sword and his style. He guessed that it was also because of this distance that Kenshin (and most probably Hiko) had both killed in their lifetimes – in the end, the sword was just a tool for murder, and kenjutsu was just the art of killing.

But the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu was different. If the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu was like the wind, then the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu was like fire – a strong, lively fire that burned in your soul, fueling your ki. It kept you warm, it kept you passionate, it kept you determined and raring to go. And because it was in your soul, you could never practice it without some _effort_ on your part, and everything that you did with it was personal. That was why the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu was a non-killing technique, why he and Kaoru never even thought that killing was a _choice_ – because to stain your blade, your style and your soul with that inerasable sin was just too terrifying to contemplate. The Kamiya Kasshin Ryu was not just a sword style, it was a _lifestyle_ – something that you lived with, grew with, and could never walk away from. In the end, the sword was a part of your body, and the style was a part of your soul.

"_I do not intend to pass the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu on to anyone, Yahiko, least of all to you."_

What Kenshin had said before, Yahiko realized now, was not an insult at all. Because Kenshin had known long before that his ki resembled a raging fire more than chilly, cutting winds, and that the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu would surely stoke it to greater heights. And in the end…

"_If that's what you think, Yahiko, if you think that by practicing the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu you're _settling_, then by all means leave. You won't be able to go any further, and I have nothing to teach you any longer."_

In the end the sword was something you picked up, and kenjutsu was something you _chose_. A sword style was a choice, not something that you settled on just because no one would teach you the other cooler style. He knew now that Kaoru was right – he would never go far if he didn't realize this, if he didn't _choose_ the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu. And he had every reason to, the suitability to his ki notwithstanding. He believed in everything that the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu stood for – the passion for life, the will to protect, the faith in second chances – and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the path he wanted to follow, that this was something that he really wanted to be part of his soul.

* * *

"Yahiko?"

Yahiko looked up. Kaoru was hovering over him, looking concerned. Sweat dripped from her chin onto the wooden floor. Kicking off his sandals, Yahiko stepped into the dojo and knelt, bowing as he planted his hands in front of him, forehead inches from the ground.

"Ka- Sensei, I apologize for my rudeness."

"Yahiko? Can't this wait-"

He lifted his head and stared straight at her, knowing this time that the fire of the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu burned brightly in his eyes.

"I _choose_ the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu."

Kaoru gaped at him. A moment passed, then the corners of her eyes crinkled, and the edges of her mouth turned up. She was normal, smiling Kaoru again. _Sensei Kaoru_.

"Very well. Then let's begin."

* * *

A/N 2: So what did you think? I was always quite dissatisfied with the way Yahiko seemed to want to learn the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu more than the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu (going as far as to use modified versions of it in battle!). C'mon, I'm sure the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu has a few kickass moves as well! But further down the timeline, somewhere between the Kyoto and Jinchuu arcs, he seemed to understand and appreciate his own style for what it was. And this fic tries to address that moment. And of course, what I personally feel about these two different sword styles.

I also find the relationship between Yahiko and Kaoru in the canon-verse extremely interesting. Even more so in the manga. (Spoilers for Jinchuu ahead!) The way they found a sort of mutual respect for each other, the trust in each other and in the Kamiya Kasshin Ryu… and in the end, the way Kaoru dealt with Yahiko when he wanted to learn the succession technique, as well as Yahiko's thoughts when he found out that Kaoru had 'died' – sometimes I get the feeling that this relationship might even be stronger than that between K&K. Too bad there aren't many fics that focus solely on this relationship. From my experience, many fanfics tend to simplify this relationship. And I get why – it isn't the central theme of the fic, so there's no point trying to really flesh it out. But still, I don't think they can just be dumped into the 'bickering siblings' category. That said, there are a few good ones that offer insight into this relationship… and here's my little contribution to that group.

Okay, that was a pretty long A/N. Sorry for the slight rant, I seem to be doing that quite a lot lately. Anyway, thank you all so much for your reviews and alerts (virtual Kenshin plushies will be delivered to your mailboxes soon) and it'd be awesome if the amazing support continues! This time all I can give is the promise of an update sometime in the next two weeks!


	5. Word on the Street

A/N 1: Wow another drabble within a fortnight! See? I told you if you reviewed you'd be rewarded! Anyway, here's a… *gasp* high school fic! You know, I've always wondered about the many high school fics where Kenshin's the king of the school and Kaoru's the geek/loser. Because judging by their canon personalities at sixteen… Shouldn't it be the other way around? I mean, as hot as Kenshin was at sixteen, I think his terribly sullen attitude (on the surface) would have driven most teenagers away. Although if you read the manga carefully, the Battousai did sweatdrop and do other non-serious things, so I think once you get past his ridiculously thick defensive wall he can be quite…normal. Kaoru, on the other hand, with her bright chirpy personality, friendliness and innocent trust in people would be more well-liked, no? Anyway, this fic kinda shows what I think canon!K&K would be like as typical high schoolers (no revolution, no civil unrest, just their core canon personalities). This one was absolutely fun for me to write (even though it isn't my best work by a mile), hope you have fun reading it as well!

Well then, let's get a move on already!

Disclaimer: Maybe if I bribed enough lawyers… Nah.

**Sketch Five: Word on the Street**

_In which The Narrator proves that you really can't trust the word on the street these days._

* * *

Himura Kenshin and Kamiya Kaoru are going out.

That's the current word on the street these days, but for some reason, I find it incredibly hard to believe. I mean, Himura is _the_ anti-socialite (yes, I just coined that term and yes, all copyrights belong to me). He has maybe a handful of friends, but most of the time you wouldn't think so because you usually see him skulking along the corridors, alone. He doesn't even eat in the cafeteria! God knows I've tried talking to him – we have the same chemistry class – but all I got in return were single-sentenced replies (_short _sentences, mind you) and a "leave me alone" vibe. So I left him alone. But I've got to admit, if not for the whole loner thing, he's quite good date material. He's got this gorgeous red hair that I would absolutely _die_ for (I swear one day I'll ask him what brand of conditioner he uses) and his eyes are – I don't really know how to describe it – dynamic? A constant shifting of colors, like light reflecting off ripples, sometimes there would be these violet flecks in his amber irises… or is it the other way around? Whatever it is, it's mesmerizing. And the mystery surrounding him adds to his appeal as well... but enough about him – he's not really my type anyway – let's talk about Kamiya.

Now, Kamiya isn't exactly the most popular girl in the school – not by a mile – but she's well-liked, if a little strange. She's the secretary of the Kendo club and get this – she actually _competes_. In the _male_ category because our town's too small for a female one. The first time I heard this I imagined a huge girl with facial hair and arms the size of car tires. A sort of Trunchbull, if you will. But then someone pointed her out to me, and I couldn't have been more wrong. She's this petite, pretty girl – not devastatingly beautiful, but pretty enough in her own right – with long black hair and these amazing blue eyes that seem to be all sorts of shades of blue at the same time (yes, I'm an eye person). And she's really _nice_ to boot – this I know from experience. Once, I was running down the corridor when my old file split (useless, pathetic thing that it was). My papers were fanned out over the entire corridor, and Kamiya happened to be passing by. Then, despite the fact that the bell had rung about five minutes ago and we were both late for Calculus, she bent over and helped me pick them up, sheet by sheet. By the time we got to class we were fifteen minutes late, and our teacher (the _real _Trunchbull) chewed us out in front of the entire class. Several nasty comments about our sexual orientation were made in the progress. I tell you, I had never been more mortified in my entire life! But Kamiya, she just looked at me and grinned, winking before she took her seat at the other end of the classroom.

Can you see the absurdity of the rumor now? Himura and Kamiya are _nothing_ like each other, and they aren't compatible in any way. I mean, the fact that they are _good_ _friends_ is hard enough to swallow – I wouldn't have believed it unless I saw them talking to each other and hanging out after school on a few occasions – but _going out_? Movies, dinner dates, your place or mine, the whole shebang? Yeah, right. I just can't picture them dating. It's like something you'd read in trashy romance novels. Or fanfiction. So I'm going to do some investigating on my own. No, I am not going to _stalk _them! I'll just…observe them. From a distance.

* * *

"_Hey Kenshin, am I being paranoid or are we being followed?"_

"_We are."_

"_What? Why didn't you mention it earlier?"_

"_I thought you knew."_

"_Well, _**_now_**_ I do. Hmm… she's just…watching us."_

"_I think it has to do with the rumor."_

"_Which rumor? There're millions when it comes to you. Is it the one where you're an assassin for some secret government organization?"_

"_That was… interesting. They did do a fair amount of research…"_

"…_That's a nice way of putting it. I'll just go and ask her what she wants to know. Just in case she asks though, what brand of conditioner do you use?"_

"_Very funny. But don't go over."_

"_Why?"_

"_Let them form their own conclusions. It doesn't matter to me… But if it bothers you-"_

"_It doesn't. I wonder what sort of conclusions she'll end up with though…"_

"_Probably not the right one."_

* * *

Okay, so it has been three days and from what I see, there isn't anything remotely unplatonic (is that even a word?) going on between them. They aren't even spending more time together at school! And when they _do_ spend some time together, they seem to act like they always do, hanging out, talking and walking home together. So they seem a little…closer? But that doesn't mean anything. Probably just that they've gotten closer and more comfortable as friends, that's all.

If that doesn't convince you, let me tell you what happened today. Now, I know for a fact that Himura and Kamiya usually stay on later than the rest of the club to clean up after kendo practice, and there was a session after school today. So if I wanted to catch any action between the two of them, it would be after the session's over, right? I mean, come on, an empty gym, hardly anyone left in school, the two of them alone with adrenaline running high from kendo…who wouldn't get down and dirty right there?

Oh how wrong I was. You know, when I said _action _and _down and dirty_, I didn't mean _sparring_! Club activities had ended about half an hour ago and there they were, sparring in the gym when I stopped by to peek in. But… my goodness. I've never had much interest in kendo, so I've never actually witnessed a kendo match before, but if they are all as exciting as this I'm definitely saving myself a seat during regionals. Himura was moving so fast that he was just a red and white blur, and amazingly, Kamiya was keeping up with him. It was almost breathtaking, the way their wooden swords arced in the air, and the way their feet moved, pivoting and gliding over the polished wooden floor panels. But as exhilarating as it was to watch them, even someone as inexperienced as me could tell that the match couldn't last any longer – while Himura seemed to be holding back, Kamiya was having a hard time landing a hit.

And there was also the…_intensity_ of it all. Their eyes were locked onto each other, and you could tell that they were focusing on nothing else, lending a sort of charged atmosphere to the air, like every molecule in the gym was charged with _something_… it's the sort of feeling you get just before you're shocked by static electricity. And it was kind of uncomfortable to watch too, like intruding on someone else's property, or seeing something that really isn't meant for your eyes. But before I could even shift away from the door, it was over. Himura had, in the few moments I had been distracted, overpowered Kamiya; he was standing over her sprawled form on the floor with his wooden sword at her throat. _Now_. In that moment, with the air practically crackling with that charged _something_, I was sure that they were going to do it. Make out. _Really_ get down and dirty. But instead, Himura just grinned at her and lowered his sword, bending down to help her up.

_Ha._ I told you, didn't I? They _aren't_ going out. If they are, they would have done something then. A kiss, maybe a bit of groping, _something_. But they didn't. Which totally goes to show that you can't really trust the word on the street these days. But still… the intensity that I had felt… maybe it wouldn't hurt to observe them for a few more days.

* * *

"_Okay, it's been four days and she's still watching us! And I know for a fact that she was watching us spar yesterday!"_

"_We've had spectators before."_

"_Yes, but not _**_stalkers_**_! This is verging on creepy."_

"_I just figured out yesterday that she's in my chemistry class."_

"_How wonderful. I think she might have a crush on you."_

"_From what I heard, _**_you_** _might be the one she has a crush on."_

"_What?"_

"_Sano told me about that time you were late to Calc."_

"_Oh. That. Yeah, I was helping this girl with her- Oh. That's her?"_

"_And people call _**_me_**_ anti-social."_

"_Hey, I'm just not that good with names and faces, okay? Besides, I think she's cut her hair since then." _

"_That's not an excuse. So were you really late because you were making out with her in the girls' bathroom?"_

"_Oh shut up. You know exactly which way I swing."_

"_I know _**_one_**_ way. You might swing both ways for all I know."_

"_Sheesh, for someone who's silent most of the time, you sure are talkative today."_

"_Only with you, Kaoru. Only with you."_

* * *

Today's the fifth day of my stalk- _observation_ of Himura and Kamiya. If I don't catch anything funny going on between the two of them by the end of today I'm just going to call it quits. The word on the street got it all _wrong_. I mean seriously, all the couples in this school can barely keep their hands off each other for _one_ day, let alone five. I figured the Himura-Kamiya pair might be an exception, since Himura's such a desperately private person, but I've been following them around school in between breaks and everything! I even come to school earlier so I can loiter around their lockers! The only time I don't follow them is during lessons, and trust me, if they are doing something during their shared classes _someone_ would have definitely said _something_. There's also lunch, of course, but a girl's gotta eat, right? And besides, who knows where the hell Himura goes during lun-

Oh. My. God. I am an idiot! An imbecile that the Powers That Be didn't deign to bless with common sense! A dumb brunette! _Of course!_ It's all so simple now! Remember before, when I said that Himura doesn't eat in the cafeteria? Yeah, well, the only reason I noticed is because way back, when I was still _kinda_ interested in him as date material, I wanted to ask him if I could join him for lunch. But when I reached the cafeteria that day, I couldn't find him. And neither could I for the rest of the week. So I figured that he didn't eat in the cafeteria, but went off somewhere to do something (maybe the undercover spy rumor was true?). Anyway, to get back to the point, what I had assumed all this time was that _Kamiya_ eats in the cafeteria – after all, her friends have their own table – so it wasn't possible for her and Himura to do anything during lunch. Oh how woefully misguided I was! In all my years here I have never once _seen_ Kamiya in the cafeteria during lunch. Which means that there's a high probability that she's with Himura, doing _something_.

I'm incredibly lucky to have figured this out now, during Calc – we have Calc right before lunch. This means that when the bell rings, I can follow Kamiya to wherever it is that she and Himura hook up.

Okay, the bell just rang. Pick up your books, Kamiya – _it's go time_.

* * *

"_Hey."_

"_Hey yourself. Care to make some space?"_

"_You know we're still being watched, right?"_

"_Yep. But now that I know which rumor she's investigating, I doubt it'll matter if she sees this. In fact, maybe it'll help."_

"_Oh? __Care to share your newfound knowledge?"_

"_I heard her talking to someone in the girls' bathroom. There's this rumor going around the school – apparently, we're dating. Wait, why don't you look surprised? You _**_knew_**_?_"

"_No. But I did suspect."_

"_Then why didn't you tell me? And stop laughing! God, you're so infuriating sometimes!"_

"_Why do you put up with me then?"_

"_Because… because you're – you're my _**_friend_**_, Kenshin. And – And that's what friends do – put up with their other friends' annoying tendencies to leave out important information. Anyway, back to the point: I figured that maybe having her stalk us will dispel this rumor once and for all. You know, after she sees that we're…er…"_

"_Just friends?"_

"_Precisely. Just friends."_

* * *

Oh wow. Oh god. I'm speechless. I don't even know how to phrase this into comprehensible words for you to understand. Okay, let me start from the top.

After the bell rang, I followed Kamiya out of the classroom. She led me through the corridors, stopped by her locker to deposit some books, and then headed out to… the teachers' carpark. Yes, _a carpark_. Now, I don't really have much experience in the area, but I was confused – asphalt isn't exactly the greatest surface to do any form of the nasty, if you know what I mean. But then she crossed the carpark and walked towards… there's this huge tree at the end of the carpark, but I couldn't really see if she was heading there because the school building was blocking my line of sight. So I crept along after her, dodging behind cars (I knew my mad ninja skillz would come in handy!) until I finally saw her again. Peeking out over the hood of a silver Honda, I saw her sitting on a small grass patch under that huge tree, and _surprise surprise_! Himura was there too, back propped up by one of the roots that was jutting out of the ground.

Himura said something then, and Kamiya said something back, but I was too far to hear anything besides some muffled murmurs (there were no other cars close enough for me to hide behind). He then brought his knees up and she scooted backwards, settling herself into a new position leaning against his legs, her own stretched outwards across the grass. As soon as she leant back he said something again and she angled her head slightly sideways, grinning at him as she replied. The corners of Himura's lips twitched as he continued the conversation, and then I swear it extended into a full blown smirk as he heard Kamiya's reply. Then, as if realizing something, Kamiya shrieked – something along the lines of "_Who new?_" Don't ask me, I didn't get it either. But Himura did, and he laughed. I've never seen Himura laugh before then.

And that was when it hit me. It was in the casually intimate way they were sitting. In the way their eyes sought and found each other's with each word passed between them, in the way Himura looked at Kamiya as the conversation seemed to turn serious – all focus and clarity and… _warmth_. And it was in the way Kamiya blushed faintly as she replied with a small smile playing on her lips, in the way they fell into a pleasant silence, basking in nothing but each other's presence and the midday sun.

Everything I've seen the past five days, and everything I had just seen – they all pointed to one thing:

The word on the street is wrong. Himura Kenshin and Kamiya Kaoru are _not_ going out, no…

_Himura Kenshin and Kamiya Kaoru are in love._

* * *

A/N 2: Thank you for reading! You know, I've always wondered: who the hell is The Narrator talking to, anyway? Is she even talking to anyone? Or is she simply scribbling in her diary (and talking out loud while at it)? Hmm… Oh and I hope you'll forgive me if it seems jerky and disconnected at parts - I'm still not completely satisfied with the flow of things, but I really didn't know how else to improve it without sacrificing the story and the impact I wanted to make. The tenses also gave me much trouble - I'm really sorry if all the grammatical mistakes made it jarring to read!

Anyway, if you've noticed, there're so many clichés in this fic that what The Narrator said in the beginning about trashy romance novels and fanfiction becomes kinda ironic. Because if there's one thing I've figured, it's that sometimes the antonym of _realistic _isn't _clichéd_ – more often than not, I find myself living out a cliché in real life. Besides, it was extremely fun exploring all these high school/fandom clichés and trying to incorporate them into my fic! How many can you spot?

And once again, thank you so much for reviewing/alerting/favoriting! Special thanks goes to **kokoronagomu **and **caseyedith** for the constant encouragement! You guys are awesome! And needless to say, more reviews would make me incredibly happy and keep me going!


	6. The Idea of Love

A/N 1: Here's a short little drabble for you guys. Set in the canon-verse, and completely ignores the existence of Seisouhen. I re-watched it recently, and well… It's good as a movie and everything (gorgeous soundtrack and animation), but everything was so… Out of Character. I mean, really, wasn't the whole point of Jinchuu for Kenshin to find that final answer? Why did he completely act like he still hadn't found any form of absolution? And why the hell did Kaoru let him carry on like that? I could rant a whole lot more, but I don't think it's appropriate right now... So here's my final stand: Seisouhen, to me, is like a piece of fanfiction. Set in an alternate universe, with OOC characters. I would love to know what you guys think of it, though.

And now we move on to the _real_ reason why we're here!

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

**Sketch Six: The Idea of Love**

_They were walking home from the market when it hit her._

* * *

They were walking home from the market – he laden with the week's groceries and her with a worryingly light purse – when it hit her. The shock and simplicity of the truth was enough to still her steps, her breath coming shorter than it had previously done while her mind churned out thought after overlapping thought. And amidst the mental chaos was one single realization: _he was not in love with her._

Well, not really. He was in love with the _idea _of being in love with someone like her, someone who was (_to him_) everything he was not – optimistic, idealistic, and most important of all, _innocent_ – but everything he had once been. Maybe he, who had always thought of himself as a lesser being ever since he wielded a bloody sword for another man's justice, felt that loving someone as (_seemingly_) unstained and untarnished as her could possibly mean that he wasn't a completely hopeless cause. After all, didn't demons shun the light?

"Kaoru-dono? Is something the matter?"

He had turned around, only having taken a few steps before realizing that she had stopped walking. She looked at him, his red hair set ablaze by the dying sun, his calloused and slightly rough hands gripping the grocery bags, and his scar… That symbol of past horror and ultimate despair and…

(_It's getting fainter day by day_)

Redemption.

And then she looked into the eyes of her husband of five years and wondered if he knew that he wasn't really in love with her, and if it was okay for her to be in love with the idea of being in love with someone like him as well.

"Everything's fine, Kenshin. Let's go home."

* * *

A/N 2: I must admit, this piece means quite a lot to me. I grew up with RK, and Kenshin really played an important part in shaping my perspectives and what I think I want in life. So I'm kinda wary of falling in love with the _idea_ of something or someone, and how they seem to fit into a Kenshin-esque mold, instead of really seeing them and taking them for what they are. And I think that to an extent, so do Kenshin and Kaoru. They love the fact that they are in love with someone who fits a certain idea – for Kenshin, it's the innocence thing, and for Kaoru, I think it's the second chances thing. But maybe that's okay, y'know? Because sometimes it means the same thing anyway.

Wow, I think my author's notes are turning out to be longer than the drabble itself! Oh and just so you know, I won't be posting anything for a while – I'm going on vacation (maybe more ideas would come then?). And thank you so much for all the amazing reviews, encouraging words and constructive feedback! I do hope you guys can continue to support little ole me!


	7. Shoewatching

A/N 1: I'm baaaack! This time with another AU drabble. There's really not much to say about this, I've reserved most of my thoughts for the end. Just know that I'm borrowing the running theme of closure in the manga and centering the story on it. Goodbyes, closures and the lack thereof – a theme that is truly worth exploring, no?

Now onwards to the fic!

Disclaimer: Still a definite no-no.

**Sketch Seven: Shoe-Watching**

_Time passes and people change. But in the end, some old habits are hard to kick._

_

* * *

__Black leather shoes. Recently polished – but done hastily, judging by the smudges of shoe polish near the soles. Laces are tied neatly enough though. Probably a fresh graduate, late for an important interview at some multi-national company._

_Brown Doc Martens. Worn-out but comfortable looking; the grooves on the soles are shallow. Either his favorite pair of shoes or the only one he owns. Mismatched socks mean that he's isn't going anywhere far or important. Your average joe, heading towards the corner store to pick up some groceries._

_Red stilettos. Extremely flashy, and they look new. A little too small; the store probably didn't have her size. But she bought them anyway, which means that she needed them for something. A woman in her late twenties, trying to get back at an ex. Or a cougar about to close in on her prey._

_White flats. Plain with no patterns except for a small bow at the end. Feet seem slightly swollen, and ankles are definitely less defined. A conservative mother-to-be, catching a bus home-_

_Oh. I should probably give her my seat._

I stood up from the bench I had been sitting on, casting a glance about for some other place where I could shoe-watch unobtrusively. Shoe-watching was a leftover habit from my high school days. Since I had time to kill while waiting for my bus, it crept upon me and before I knew it I was observing other people's shoes, trying to come to some sort of conclusion about their owners. It wasn't as interesting or fun without someone else around, but no one really shoe-watched. No, the hype had always been about _people-watching_. I settled into a new position against a lamp post and continued.

_Navy Birkenstocks. Old with dirt and grass stains. Tired-looking feet, and dense blonde leg hair indicates a love for meat – bratwurst? A German tourist, returning to his hotel after a trip to the nearby park._

_Brown Doc Martens. Comfortable-looking, and – wait, haven't I seen this before? Mismatched socks, shallow grooves…right, it's the average joe returning from his grocery trip._

"Stop that, my shoes are getting embarrassed."

Startled, I jerked my head upwards. A short redhead stared back.

_Of all the bus stops in all the world…_

He looked as stunned as I felt. I recovered first, though.

"You cut your hair," I told him, unable to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice. I didn't even know what I was accusing him of.

"And you grew yours out," he retorted, mouth curving into that half-familiar smile, amethyst eyes slightly crinkling at the corners.

He hadn't changed.

Well, not as far as I could tell. Sure, his hair was shorter now (I could actually see his ears) and he had picked up an interesting scar on his left cheek over the years, but in essence, this was still the same boy that I had met in high school all those years ago. _You're here. I don't believe it, you're actually _here_._

We stood there, the shock still obvious in our tense bodies when a bus came. Snapping my gaze away from those (_still deep, still old_) eyes, I took a moment to check if it was the bus I was waiting for. It wasn't. The pregnant woman with the white flats got on, leaving the bench empty. Almost instinctively, he gestured at it and we both sat down. It felt so familiar, so nostalgic, and for a few moments we sat in a comfortable silence, lost in memories from what seemed to be an eternity ago.

"It's nice," he said suddenly, eyes fixed on a pair of combat boots as they walked by. It's good to know that he hadn't kicked that habit as well.

"What?"

"Your new… look. It's nice."

I fingered the ends of my ponytail nervously. I could tell that that wasn't really what he wanted to say. There was an elephant in the room, but I'd be damned if I was the one who would broach the subject first.

"Thanks, I guess. I grew out of the goth phase a long time ago, you know."

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eyes. He was now looking at a pair of brightly colored flip-flops.

"You look good as well," I said, just to fill the silence that now seemed slightly awkward (_since when were our silences awkward?_), "I like what you did with your hair."

He ran his fingers through his bangs, a nervous habit that he had apparently kept as well. _Did this boy never change?_ Suddenly feeling old and tired, I stared down at our shoes. _Brown Docs and blue pumps-_

"You left." It came sooner than expected. I winced at barely-masked hurt in his voice.

"I did." But I had no apologies for him.

"Why?"

I snorted. He knew why. I had told him the reason many years ago, when we were both sitting in his car, eating Chinese takeout and hiding from the rain and our so-called homes. "Because I _hated_ that town," I reminded him, "Because I needed to get away, and the moment I saw my chance I seized it. No looking back."

"Not even for me," he muttered. I could taste his bitterness at the back of my throat.

I sighed. "You were the last good thing about that town, Kenshin." God, how long had it been since I last tasted that name rolling off my tongue? "You made my years in high school bearable. But what I felt for you was _nothing_ compared to what I felt about that town."

I hated it. I hated the conversation, I hated talking about that town, and I hated the memories that were now crawling to the surface, scraping painfully against the edges of my mind. My bus came around the corner, and for a second I considered standing up and getting on it.

But I hadn't seen this boy in ten years, this boy who had made things seem okay when they weren't, this boy who was now a grown man sitting next to me with a curious scar on his cheek, this man who still made my heart throb just a bit faster from proximity alone. And I owed him _something_ – the very least I could give him was a proper goodbye, payment for the one I never actually said to his face ten years ago.

My bus came and left. He was now looking at a pair of jogging shoes, and the silence that ensued grated on my nerves. _Is he trying to punish me? _

"You could've at least said goodbye, you know." I didn't know how to read the underlying emotion in his voice.

"I did!" Oh god, who was I kidding? A post-it note on his dashboard was _not_, by anyone's standards, a proper goodbye.

"Really?" His voice was rising now, mocking, and his gaze had turned to hold mine, "_So long and thanks for all the fish, I'm outta here_. _That's_ what you call a goodbye?"

"Okay, so it wasn't, but at least you _knew_, didn't you? I skipped town and you were the only one I told!"

"That makes me feel so _special_."

His anger sparked my own. "Yeah, it should!"

"So my _friend_," we both cringed at those words – it didn't sound right, not really, "skipped town and all I got was a Douglas Adams reference. I'm supposed to be happy with that?"

"Oh _come on_, Kenshin! You know as well as I do what The Hitchhiker's Guide meant to us!"

"But apparently I was the only one who knew what _we_ meant to us!"

"How can you say that? You're the only one I actually thought deserved something from me before I left!"

"So why not a proper goodbye then, face-to-face? What, I didn't deserve some closure as well?" He sounded equal parts furious and wounded, but it was the fact that he had actually let his emotions seep into his voice, more than anything, that made me say what I said next.

"Because I _couldn't_, okay?" I must've looked really stupid, cheeks all blotchy, face contorted in rage and mortification. "If I had seen you, even if it was just to tell you goodbye, I would have _stayed_. I would've forgotten about everything that made that town so miserable to live in, and I would've missed my opportunity. And who knew when the next one would come along? I – I just couldn't do it, okay? Having to leave you crushed me, Kenshin. But staying in that town any longer than I had would've _killed_ me."

And for the first time since I'd known him, he was speechless. Eyes wide and mouth slightly open, I could tell that his mind was working furiously to phrase his feelings into coherent sentences, but no words could leave his mouth. And that was when I realized that he _had_ changed – because ten years is enough to not just change someone physically, but in essence as well. And maybe despite everything that I thought and did, I had changed as well – for better or for worse. Maybe everything had just led up to this moment, for us to tie up our loose ends and find some closure so that we could both finally, truly move on from that town.

I looked down at his Docs. I wondered where they had been these past ten years. Then I looked at my own blue pumps, and wondered if they'd ever tread on the trails that his Docs had woven. Maybe it's time that these two pairs of shoes walked away from each other to carve out their own paths for themselves.

I stood up. My apartment wasn't that far from here, I could walk home.

I turned to him, his violet eyes glowing in the setting sun, and said goodbye in the only way I knew how:

"Well, so long and thanks for all the fish, I'm outta here."

And then the blue pumps took its first steps away from the brown Docs.

"No."

His voice was strong enough to be carried over the roar of nearby traffic. It was firm enough to stay my steps.

"What?"

"No," he repeated simply, standing up and walking over towards me.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I was angry, torn between reaching for him and walking away in the opposite direction as quickly as I could. _Why can't you just let me say goodbye?_

"That's what I would've said, if you had come to say goodbye to me then." He was close, his eyes fixed on mine and holding an emotion that I recognized from our days back in that town. But that didn't make it any less indecipherable.

"But I didn't." I hated the way I sounded so breathless.

"You didn't," he agreed, hand rising to tuck a lock of wayward hair behind my ear, and when his knuckles brushed against my cheeks I closed my eyes, savoring the familiarity of the action, "but you just did. And so I'm telling you now – _no_. You don't get to walk away from me a second time, Kaoru."

Maybe it was because we were not in that godforsaken town anymore, or maybe it was because the way he said my name hadn't changed one bit and the sense of nostalgia was so overwhelming, or maybe it was simply because in the end, old habits were hard to kick – whatever it was, at that moment, I kissed him. Or he kissed me. It didn't matter after that first instant.

We broke apart moments later, breaths mingling, and when I finally looked up at him I realized that I had no idea what to say. But I knew that I didn't want that wretched silence to follow. So I blurted out the one thing that I had resolved not to say the moment I knew it was him,

"I've missed you."

His lips curled into that now-familiar smile, "Me too. Chinese at my place?"

"Okay." _We're okay, right?_

And at the end of the day, a pair of comfortable-looking Doc Martens and blue pumps walked away from the bus stop, together.

* * *

A/N 2: Got pretty waffy at the end, I know – is it too much? I've actually had this drabble floating about in my head for quite a while now, but couldn't find the right words to put it down in until now. Even so, it still seems a bit…iffy. Like it's missing something. If you find it, do drop me a review!

Oh and I know you might have a few questions about what exactly happened ten years ago, but sorry, there won't be a prequel to this drabble unless I find something worth writing about. Even so, I think there are enough clues for you to roughly sketch out your own prequel. The details are completely up to your imagination.

Kenshin with short, layered hair is inspired by the cover of 'Darling', a doujinshi by Sakurakan. Seriously guys, go check it out if you haven't, he's still incredibly hot with short hair! Just google image search 'kenshin sakurakan', and the first image should be the one.

Once again, thank you for all the reviews and support! I'm truly grateful for them. More would really brighten up my day and keep the writing spirit in me alive!


	8. Named

A/N 1: Happy Friday the Thirteenth everyone! Here's something… different for you guys. In keeping with the Friday the 13th theme, I've decided to upload something that's a little darker, a little further removed from the realistic/canon worlds that I've dabbled in so far. I have to admit, I'm kinda excited about (and proud of) this one. Oh and just in case you don't know what a shinigami is, it literally translates to 'Death God'.

On with the show!

Disclaimer: A dream is a wish your heart makes. No wonder I've been having dreams of Watsuki-sama declaring me as his sole heir.

**Sketch Eight: Named**

"_I know nothing of names. Tell me, shinigami, what is in a name?"_

* * *

He was nameless.

He lay on a bed of cold frost and dark blood and gleaming moonlight, watching the snow fall with a curious sense of detachment. One of his wings had been torn apart, he was missing a left hand and his life was slowly draining out of him from the multiple stab wounds and cuts he had sustained during the battle.

He was nameless, and he was dying.

Amber irises surveyed the bloody battlefield dispassionately; a fresh layer of pristine white snow was already starting to coat the dismembered corpses and ownerless weapons. He would not miss this place. He would not miss anyone or anything about this life. Extremities already numb, he closed his eyes and waited for the end.

The end did not come as quickly as he would have liked.

He continued lying there, listening to the night and the steady drip of his blood when he heard the crunch of soft footfalls echoing through the snow, resounding strangely in the cold air. Slowly opening his eyes, he raised his head a few inches off the ground and saw a glimmer of light in the distance, a dark figure accompanying it as it made its way through the snow towards… _him_?

The figure stopped a few paces before him. Ignoring the pain that tore through his body, he propped himself up against a nearby body to better see the figure, fingers subconsciously tightening on the sword he still held in his right hand.

Raven hair tied high in an elegant ponytail; a pale, bloodless face and the most striking blue eyes he had ever seen, the figure – no, _woman_ – that stood before him was carrying a red lantern that cast shadows over her face, making her expression hard to read. She was wearing a black kimono, and when she shifted closer he could make out chrysanthemum flowers embedded in glowing midnight blue thread on the cloth.

And all of a sudden, he knew who she was.

"Are you here for me then, _shinigami_?"

"Yes." A voice that was light and lilting, not what he had expected at all. He noticed that the snow did not seem to fall on her.

"I did not expect to see you." It was true; he did not expect to meet death. He had always thought that when death came it would be swift and silent.

She cocked her head to the side, unfathomable blue eyes observing him, "Death is the great equalizer. It does not matter who or what you are – death will always meet you at the end."

Almost resignedly, he closed his eyes again, preparing for whatever came afterward. If the smell of chrysanthemums was the last thing he would remember, then perhaps death was not so terrible after all.

"What is your name, demon?"

His eyes snapped open as he tried to decipher her tone and expression. Was she playing with him? She knew – she _had _to know – that demons didn't have names. They did not need any, and so were not given any. This had always bothered him before, and now, with the numbness spreading through his limbs, he found that it still did. What were her intentions in bringing it up in his final moments? To make him regret the life he was born into, the one in which he did not have a choice? Perhaps death was cruel after all.

"I do not have one," he replied testily, glaring at her with all the strength he had left when she made no move to retract her previous question. He dimly realized that his vision was getting blurry.

A small smile half-hidden in the shadows. "Perhaps I did not make myself clear," amusement laced through her voice, "I meant to say – what would you like your name to be?"

"_What_?"

The agitation was a little too much for his ailing system and he doubled over, spitting out blood and bile. His fingers still clutched his sword tightly, unable to let go even in the face of death.

With deliberate motions, the woman set her lantern down and knelt in front of him, bringing deep sapphire eyes to his eye level. Unable to meet those eyes for long (_Was he afraid of them? Of the death he saw in there?_), he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and averted his gaze to her lantern. It had the strangest pattern – columns of inky swirls coursed down the crimson rice paper, like ink carried away by running blood.

"You have been chosen to be reborn," his eyes reverted back to hers in shock, "And as a human, you will need a name. I am giving you a chance to decide that now."

"Reborn as a human?" Skepticism laced through his voice, made hoarse by his earlier fit, "Why me?"

"You have been chosen."

He snorted derisively, ignoring the stabbing pain that resulted in his chest. "_Chosen_? Do not play games with me, _shinigami_. Did you not just say that death is the great equalizer? That all beings are subject to the same regard in death? Why is death picking favorites now?"

A tilt of the corners of her lips (_or was that simply a trick of the light?_) as she replied sedately, perhaps a hint of patronization in her voice, "Death _is _the great equalizer. Death does not choose. But _life_ does, demon, and life chooses you."

He waited for her to elaborate but she seemed content to leave it at that. He didn't have the time or energy to try to pry answers out of her; the combination of blood loss and cold was already making his mind sluggish. However, one line of thought remained strong – his mind had grasped on to her earlier question with something akin to desperation: _what would you like your name to be?_

"I know nothing of names. Tell me, shinigami, what is in a name?"

She shuffled forward, and when she stopped the red glow of the lantern was fully upon her face; he could see every nuance of her expression. A full smile had bloomed across those ashen lips of hers, but it did not comfort him. On the contrary, it unsettled him with the unknown intentions hidden beneath the surface.

"An excellent question, demon, the first I have heard in centuries," she placed a finger to her lips in thought, and for a moment he did not see skin but instead the glow of bones in the moonlight. But then he blinked, and through his fuzzy vision he could make out the pallid flesh of her finger. Perhaps his mind would leave him first.

"Hmm… what is in a name indeed?" She continued, that disquieting smile still playing about her lips, "Perhaps one of the most important things is an acknowledgement of one's roots. This is most likely the reason behind the family names of humans... yes, I believe it is. Tell me, demon, where are you from?"

She sounded like she was miles away, even though she was right next to him. He was fading, slowly but surely. Yet he answered anyway, "The village to the South, under the red skies."

"The demon village on which it rains nothing but blood?" She leant back on her heels and gave him a once over.

"Yes."

"I am… surprised, demon. Only the strongest live there. Yet I suppose it explains your hair – I expect the rain that bleeds from the heavens have dyed it this shade."

"Yes."

Silence reigned for a few moments as she seemed to contemplate something. He could no longer feel any pain, just a coldness that seemed to gnaw its way through his bones, and for that he was grateful.

"_Himura_, then. The crimson village. Yes, I expect that would be a good family name for you. Is that acceptable?"

_Himura_. He rolled those syllables around his mind for a few moments. It seemed fitting and reminded him of the village he came from. He inclined his head, "It will do."

She smiled, "Good."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Himura noticed movement from the lantern. However, when he turned to look it seemed the same as always – inky rivulets running down a backdrop of gleaming blood. Yet the more he looked at it the more the swirls of black seemed to resolve into characters, _words_-

"A name also has to contain truth. The truth of a person, a constant that will never change."

As he refocused his attention on the woman he unintentionally met her gaze, and was startled by how clear her eyes suddenly seemed to be. They pierced right through him and he held his breath, not daring to think for fear that she would hear his thoughts. He was held rooted to the spot by those unwavering orbs of bright blue, eyelids slowly drooping shut as he forgot where he was and what position he was in, only tied to the earth by sharp azure eyes-

And then her gaze shifted and he exhaled, and he was back in his dying body, numb and cold and shaken.

"I see you still carry your sword, even when meeting death. Why is that so?"

Himura contemplated her words, his mind struggling to phrase that vague concept he had known all his life into words, "Because… because it- it is all I know."

"All that you know? All that you have ever known?"

"Yes. Demons rarely trust, shinigami. But if nothing else, I trust this sword."

"Then your sword is your truth. Am I right in saying this?"

"Yes."

"_Ken_, then, for your sword. For the only thing you trust, for the only truth in your life. Now the other important thing in a name is," and here her smile twisted sharply into a thin knife's edge, "hope. The wishes of one's sire, of what he or she hopes one to be."

"Then it is not up to me," he croaked, feeling his strength fade from his voice with each passing moment. But it seemed that death was not ready to take him away just yet, and so he hung onto the edges of the world by mere claw tips.

"Yes, it is not up to you," she mused, reaching up to twirl midnight black strands around two (_skeletal?_) fingers, "I suppose that given our situation, it is up to _me_."

Once again the woman fell silent, and all Himura heard was the rush of wind in his ears as the snow fell harder. Or was that simply the sound one's soul made as it left one's body? He could not tell. Was he dying? Was he dead?

"A heart," she suddenly exhaled, triumphant, "_Shin_, for a heart."

"Demons do not have hearts, shinigami," he breathed, not knowing which breath he drew would be his last, "We are heartless."

"Yes, your kind is," the woman agreed, without a trace of sympathy or judgment, "but that is the beauty of this last character."

Her mouth shifted into that razor-edged smile again. Her lips were now blue, her skin was as smooth as bone, and when he attempted to decipher her smile through her eyes he found himself looking into dark, hollow sockets. It was a skull's smile, a skull's grin that she wore on her face – _what did skulls laugh at? The living?_

"Irony," she said, and he blinked. He was looking at a woman's face again, not a skull. "Because a name contains the wishes of one's sire, sometimes it also contains a wry irony hidden in its depths, ready to surface when one reaches adulthood. When one is not as one's name says. However, since I am the one giving you your name, it will be different for you." She was slowly leaning forward, her eyes devouring him once again, "Your name is ironic _now_, in itself, because as a demon you have no heart, no comprehension of the depths of a heart. But when you are reborn as a human," her mouth curled, "it will be your truth."

"Ken. Shin." He tasted his name, and something in his mind seemed to click.

"Yes. A sword and a heart. The truth of both your lives, a contradiction. I look forward to seeing you live out your name, _Himura Kenshin_."

And when she spoke his name everything came flooding back to his senses – the white hot pain of his wounds, the bitter taste of bile in his mouth, the harsh sound of his ragged breathing, the smell of blood and chrysanthemums, and the intense red glow of the lantern-

The lantern. The woman had stood up and picked up the lantern, which now hung before him, swaying slightly. And through his now startling clear vision he could see that the inky swirls were not patterns at all, no – they were characters, words – _names –_ written in ink. He could see his among the other names, its ink the freshest, still moist and glistening.

And then he knew with utter certainty that the next breath he drew would be his last.

Looking upwards, he sought the eyes of death, and when he found that endless blue sky (_not red, never red again_) he used his last breath to ask, "Will you also be reborn?"

A soft, tinkling laugh that seemed infinitely far away, echoing down a long, dark tunnel. "Perhaps. After all, death _is _the great equalizer. It does not matter who or what you are – even if you are death itself – death will always meet you at the end."

He could feel everything slowing down; he could feel his world gradually, quietly coming to a standstill.

"But even that is irrelevant, because in the end the choice lies with life. But perhaps…"

Everything was numb again, everything was a blur, everything was coagulating and coalescing with nothing – a full void. He was deaf, blind and mute. He was nothing.

Then suddenly, sharply cutting through the darkness was the smell of chrysanthemums and the voice of death and a suggestion, accompanied by a slight hesitation that he had not known death was capable of-

_Perhaps if we meet again in another life, you can show me how you wear your name, Himura Kenshin…_

And then the nameless demon was dead. And Himura Kenshin was born.

* * *

A/N 2: _Sacrilege_! I have defied fanon and made Kaoru smell like chrysanthemums instead of jasmine! Just in case you'd like to know though, in East Asia, chrysanthemums (especially white ones) symbolize death/lamentation/grief and are usually brought to graves (Kenshin brought chrysanthemums when he visited Tomoe's grave after the whole Kyoto saga). But at the same time, they (the yellow ones) can stand for a long life. So I thought it would be really appropriate (and ironic) for the shinigami/Kaoru to smell like chrysanthemums.

Anyway, thank you for reading! The way I see it, what comes after can go two ways: 1) This continues on in its own tangent (completely up to your/my imagination), or 2) It merges with the manga as a reincarnation!fic, where Shinta is renamed Kenshin because it's his _true _name, and fate decreed it to be so or something. At the same time, the shinigami is reborn as Kaoru, and our two heroes meet again, only subconsciously recognizing the other. Which is why for some reason Kenshin feels compelled to stay with Kaoru at the beginning, and later declares his final answer to her (which follows her suggestion to him to show her how he resolves the conflict in his name): _"But until I can no longer wield this sword, I will fight! I'll risk sword and heart to achieve this fighting life! This is the answer I've found!"_

And hey, who knows? I might do a few other short drabbles in this series if inspiration strikes.

Oh and I've hit 30 reviews hurray! I wonder if I can reach 100? Heh. Anyway, thanks so much you guys, I'm glad you're enjoying these little drabbles. And don't worry, I am taking heed of all your concrit! So do continue with the encouragements and reviews, I practically live off them!

(By the way, sorry about the incredibly long A/N.)


	9. Reckless

A/N 1: Hello! Oh dear. It's been quite a while since I last updated, and all I have to offer is a bit of senseless fluff. Please don't hate me. Canon-verse, if you ignore the fact that Sano and Megumi are still hanging around three months after Jinchuu.

Anyways, to the fic!

Disclaimer: Only in my dreams, unfortunately.

**Sketch Nine: Reckless**

_She was, even by his already lax standards, ridiculously reckless._

* * *

Sometimes Kenshin had the urge to just take Kaoru to a corner of the dojo and shake some sense into her. She was, even by his already lax standards, ridiculously reckless. In the short span of time he had known her, she had barged into the local yakuza headquarters to save a boy she barely knew, followed a dangerous man all the way to an even more dangerous Kyoto, and – this was the one he least understood – prepared meals for her kidnapper and potential murderer. Although Kaoru never really brought up her time on Enishi's island except in passing, Kenshin was certain that Enishi didn't always react well to being served lunch by "Battousai's woman". Especially after he tasted it.

Did the girl not have a single shred of common sense? Or was she simply incredibly brave? Kenshin would imagine arguing with her in that corner, telling her to – please, _please_ Kaoru-dono – think twice before putting herself in danger, and she would retort with something about how it didn't matter if it was dangerous, all that mattered was the person and the fact that she was doing what she believed was right. Then things would heat up and escalate, her bright blue eyes flashing defiantly in such a manner that he would lose control for a moment – all the time he needed to give in to his own reckless impulses and mold his lips over hers, silencing her arguments and protests; urging her to once again be, for this moment, reckless. And she would comply, her soft lips parting as her tongue –

"Kenshin? _Mou_! Did you listen to a single word I just said?"

Kenshin blinked. "Sorry, Kaoru-dono. This one's mind drifted for a while. What was Kaoru-dono saying?"

"I was _saying_," Kenshin avoided looking at her lips, "we should go down to the Akabeko for dinner tonight. I haven't seen Tae in ages!"

Kenshin blinked again. Her mouth was saying one thing, but her eyes… Her eyes were telling him something else. And didn't she just see Tae yesterday when they stopped by after –

Kaoru raised an eyebrow significantly.

_Oh. Right_. They had an announcement to make to the group. And he guessed the Akabeko would be the best place to do it.

Lips tilting into an almost goofy smile, he met her eyes, wondering if she felt as nervous as he suddenly did. "This one thinks that is a great idea, Kaoru… er, dono."

Kaoru blushed and Sano looked between the two of them shrewdly.

"Awesome!" Yahiko punched the air. "Beef pot tonight!"

"What's the special occasion, Jou-chan?" Sano said around his fishbone, tossing Kenshin a knowing smirk. Kenshin looked away awkwardly.

"Nothing," Kaoru said, looking away as well, "I just haven't seen Tae in a long time, that's all."

"Yeah, but didn't you just-"

"Aw, shut _up_, Sano," Yahiko groaned, "We're having beef pot tonight! Stop trying to wreck the evening!"

"Exactly, rooster head," Megumi drawled as she entered, closing the gate behind her, "Dinner at the Akabeko will be much better than dinner here. Especially since the tanuki is cooking tonight."

Spotting Kenshin, she sauntered forward to where he was sitting on the porch, the intent to cuddle up to his side (as per her habit) gleaming in her eyes.

"Ne, Ken-san?" Megumi purred as she got closer. Kenshin fidgeted uncomfortably, hands flat on the wooden floorboards as he tried his best to subtly… inch…away-

Then, out of nowhere, a pair of hands suddenly seized his shoulders and turned him around, and a pair of lips – soft, warm, and oh so tantalizingly sweet – crashed down upon his.

_Kaoru._

Before Kenshin could do anything to reciprocate the pleasant surprise, however, she had pulled away and taken his arm, hugging it tightly to her chest.

"Sorry, Megumi-san," she smirked, teeth flashing in an almost feral manner that Kenshin found incredibly attractive, "Kenshin's taken."

Silence reigned for a moment. Kenshin's hand found Kaoru's and gave it a light squeeze.

"_What?"_ The other three exclaimed simultaneously, eyes comically wide as their jaws hung open.

Kaoru threaded her fingers through his, and Kenshin noticed that her palms were slightly sweaty. _Ah, so she _is_ nervous_.

"Kenshin and I are engaged!" Kaoru beamed.

Taking in the others' expressions, Kenshin smiled and soaked in the warmth of Kaoru's body, reveling in the feel of their entwined fingers.

Maybe a reckless Kaoru wasn't such a bad thing after all.

* * *

A/N 2: Like I said, pointless fluff! Given that the previous drabble was all deep and serious, this seems a little out of place… and weird. I know this isn't really what you've come to expect from me, but I just had to get this out of my system! And besides, how can this be a proper drabble collection without some mindless fluff? (Okay, I know I'm not fooling anyone…)

Anyway, good news is: I'm working on something quite… epic! Bad news is: it's gonna take a while, so I might finish some other half-done drabbles and upload them first.

Either way, please do continue to read and review! Sessha certainly does not deserve it, but boy does sessha need it! In fact, virtual brownies for all you awesome reviewers out there!


	10. Comprehension

A/N 1: School's been slowly sucking my life away, so I really haven't been able to work on anything at all! But this came to me while I was jogging last weekend – the weather was so beautiful – and I knew I just had to get it out.

Disclaimer: If I did, I wouldn't have to go to school.

**Sketch Ten: Comprehension**

_Traditions are passed down and at the same time, a boy grows._

__

_

* * *

_

He runs to comprehend the vastness of the sky.

His mother once told him that when people ran, they usually ran in directions: _away from_ or _towards_. But nobody ever ran for the sake of running. Nobody ever ran for the sheer _joy_ of running, of feeling your feet slap the ground, of hearing nature mingled in your pants, of your muscles protesting while your eyes see everything and nothing at the same time. Nobody did, not even his father.

And when he picked up the sword he chose running as his form of endurance training. But by then he had forgotten his mother's words.

* * *

"Why do you run?"

She stood in the doorway, arms akimbo as she stared down at his panting form.

"Training," he gasped between breaths.

"And what are you training for?" Her blue eyes were different that day, sharper.

"To become stronger." He tried to control his breathing, but it was hard under those blue eyes.

"So you run towards strength?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Are you tired?"

He looked at her almost indignantly. Wasn't it obvious?

A smile creased the edges of her eyes as her lips slowly tugged upwards. Laying a hand atop his sweaty head, she told him, "Next time, run to comprehend the vastness of the sky."

"What?" Her hand was warm, a different kind of warmth from the one left over from running.

"Kenjutsu is about being focused, about being so ingrained into nature that you know every little thing that's happening – you're almost omnipresent. So when you run, insinuate yourself into nature – let your feet echo the rustling of the trees, let your breaths match the course of the wind, let your eyes see the vastness of the sky and _know_."

It wasn't until a few moments had passed that he remembered to shake her hand off his head.

* * *

The next day he tried her words. And as his body followed the familiar motions – step, exhale, step – his mind wandered and his eyes sought the sky. It was cloudless; blue – _oh so blue so enormously unfathomably blue blue blue_ – stretching from one corner of his world to the next. And as he heard his breath sync with the early morning birdcalls, and his feet counterpart the bubbling of the river, and his soul extended – _inwards, outwards, over everything, everywhere_ – he thought he came close to understanding the vastness of the sky.

He stood next to the porch after his run, breath coming a little quicker than before and realized that he was not tired. No, he was refreshed and rejuvenated and filled to the brim with energy that was almost spilling over through his jubilant grin. He turned triumphant eyes to his mother.

Blue eyes – _they had comprehended the sky once_, he thought, _they had seen and known and now emulate_ – smiled, the crow's feet at the edges tender. She matched his grin with her own, and he felt the warmth of a different sort – his _mother's_ warmth – wash over him.

So Kenji now runs to comprehend the vastness of the sky.

* * *

A/N 2: I deliberately made it vague at the start – it could have been either Yahiko or Kenji. Did anyone think it was the former till the end? Because I certainly did. I was going to write another Yahiko/Kaoru drabble but then decided that Kenji ought to get some attention too. He isn't a very fleshed-out character, and from what I've seen in the oav-that-shall-not-be-named and read in the notes Watsuki left at the end of the manga, he seems to inherit more from Kenshin (appearance and personality, version pre-Bakumatsu) than Kaoru. But I think that with a mother like Kaoru, whom takes such great pride in her family, there's bound to be much more that's passed down to Kenji. And it'll be the little traditions that make him Kaoru's son, in my opinion. Because through these traditions Kaoru's way of thinking, her way of living, would be passed down as well.


	11. Winter on the Outside

A/N 1: So. School is killing me. And so is the weather. But winter has always had some special sort of significance, especially in the RK world, so I try not to grumble about it too much. Anyway, here's a short drabble on what winter means in the Himura-Kamiya household, even after years of semi-domestic bliss.

Disclaimer: I wish.

**Sketch Eleven: Winter on the Outside**

_But the fact remains: she cannot do anything about winter._

__

_

* * *

_

Every winter, she spies her husband sitting on the porch, looking outwards and inwards at the same time; listening to the sound of snow falling, to the echoes of old wounds that, although no longer bleeding, still throbbed. And she wishes – oh how she _wishes_ with all her aching, beating heart – that she has the power to banish the season altogether. If not winter in its entirety, then at least the snow that accompanies it. Because winter – and snow – always reminds him of _her_.

But she cannot do anything about winter.

And besides, she knows that it's a selfish thought. She doesn't want her husband miserable, that is true; she doesn't want him to lose sight of the present, that is also true – but more importantly, she doesn't want him to lose sight of her. Because when winter comes it embraces her husband; leaving her standing outside, self-consciously shuffling her feet in the cold.

Maybe it would have been easier if he hadn't found such beauty in winter. If there hadn't been that half a year of peace, spent with serenity and understanding wrapped in a lavender shawl. If he hadn't found the true meaning of happiness in winter, if everything was simply a dark spot in his memory, then perhaps it would have been easier to cast winter away. But he found it, on that snowy winter night – the beauty in _her_ smile, immortalized by death and guilt and snow. And she – the other woman – would always be outside that little house in the snow, watching as he learnt about both contentment and despair. Watching, and hurting.

But the fact remains: she cannot do anything about winter.

So she sits next to her husband and holds his hand, waiting for the snow to melt and spring to come again.

* * *

A/N 2: I actually set a word limit of 300 words, just to see if I can be a concise writer. It was… tough, I have to admit, but I did it! More importantly, I hope these 300 words are poignant enough to stir something in you readers out there – that was the main point, after all. And I know I talked about working on something big, but with school the way it is currently, I don't think it'll be up anytime soon. In fact, I'm not really sure anything will be up anytime soon. I'm tremendously sorry about that, but I'll try my best to get something up sometime before spring?


	12. Found

A/N 1: I am back! Much later than you guys expected (or probably wanted), but here nevertheless! Here's a little something I've been thinking about – I decided it was better published and gaining some feedback than rotting away in my hard drive. It's far from perfect, and it's been ages since I've done anything totally AU (fics set in our time don't really count), but I hope that this one can interest you in one way or another!

Disclaimer: It's been many, many years and I'm not sure why I keep trying to own Watsuki's awesome work.

**Sketch Twelve: ****Found**

_She was a Finder. But Finders had never, ever been Keepers as well._

* * *

It was an empty space. Not a room, not a field, not an area neatly cordoned off – it was just _space_. There were no boundaries; extending into what seemed like eternity was darkness – a sort of ancient, musty darkness, not unlike that of a closet in an abandoned castle. But that description was untrue, of course, a simple trick of the mind. There was no true vision, sound, scent, taste or texture that belonged to the darkness.

The light jingling of keys echoed momentarily before it was consumed. The darkness kept everything, and turned everything into nothing.

They called it The Void.

Kaoru strolled through the darkness, absent-mindedly fingering the ring of keys in her hand. Her footsteps had stopped making sounds in The Void a long time ago. Her clothes and skin and hair were a dull gray, the darkness leaching them of any color or hue the moment she had stepped inside. She looked like a shadow, or something even less substantial – mist, or a vague impression of fog – but her eyes betrayed her for what she truly was. Bright blue and gem-like, the darkness of The Void had long since abandoned its attempt to steal those colors and depth away.

Pausing on a key, Kaoru stopped walking and held it up. It looked like a typical key – small and short – but there was a familiar little weasel sticker on it, grinning at her with its beady gray eyes. Kaoru sighed (and just as soon as she exhaled the darkness took it away), lifted the key and pushed it forward, looking for all intents and purposes like she was placing it in a keyhole. But there was no door – much less a keyhole – just an infinite darkness. She turned the key, and as the sound of a lock clicking reverberated through The Void and was swallowed a few moments later, a nondescript door materialized in front of her.

Placing her hand on the doorknob, she turned it and pushed the door open. Light began to filter in, and wherever it touched color and sound returned. The wooden door became brown, its knob a rusty gold, its hinges creaking slightly. Kaoru's colors returned to her the wider the door was opened, washing over her like a painter's brush until she no longer looked like the suggestion of a shadow, but instead like a portrait done in watercolors –somewhat faded and blurry around the edges, the colors slightly blending into each other.

She could hear her own breathing now.

"Where is it? Where is it?" A shriek to her right refocused her attention on the room she was now half-standing in.

It was a typical college dormitory room. Papers were strewn all over a desk in the corner, empty takeout boxes were left lying on the floor, and the bed was a mess of blankets and clothes. A girl, even shorter than Kaoru but infinitely younger, was in the midst of emptying the contents of a drawer.

"I can't _believe_ it, of all days!" The girl moved on to her desk, rummaging through the papers. Kaoru noticed that the long braid behind her back was messier than usual. The girl did not notice Kaoru. Or rather, she _couldn't_ have. "This is the fifth time this month! Why do we even need cards to use the bloody photocopier in the first place? _Shit!_"

_Ah. __Again, Misao? _Having grasped the situation, Kaoru took a step back through the door and closed it. The colors and sounds drained from her as she shut the door, which disappeared the moment she turned the key in the lock. Choosing another key from the ring – this one was long and slender and a different shade of gray from the others – she held it out in front of her and turned it. The muffled sound of a lock clicking, and massive double doors appeared in front of her, matte black and imposing. It would have blended in with The Void if not for its silver doorknobs, gleaming in the darkness. Kaoru entered.

The room she stepped into was blindingly white, and she would have flinched if she weren't already used to it. Infinitely tall white shelves lined the walls on either side of her, filled with all sorts of items – rings, books and coins, to name a few. The room was so large that she could not see the end. Even if she was close to the end, the white wall that marked it would have made it impossible for her to see it anyway. Kaoru muttered something under her breath, and the shelves to her left shifted. Or she was the one who shifted – she could never really tell. She could never really tell with anything in The Void. When they – or she – stopped, she turned and headed towards the shelves nearest to the door.

The shelf at her eye level was filled with lost photocopier cards from all sorts of schools, in all sorts of cities and towns. They were arranged in tidy little stacks, except for a few piles which seemed to have been haphazardly placed together. Kaoru picked a few cards up from the pile – there was one from Tokyo University, two from Saint Benedict's School, and another two from… the University of _Virginia_? She rolled her eyes. _Sano…_

Making a mental note to speak to Sano about the mess later, Kaoru grabbed the one she needed and walked out, locking the door behind her. Reaching into her pocket for her key ring, she picked another key and once again turned it in the space in front of her. Another nondescript door appeared and she opened it, walking into a room that had a similar layout to Misao's. A girl was lounging on her bed, reading a book. Walking over to the study desk on the other side of the room, Kaoru placed the photocopier card on it, murmuring a word as she did so. The colors on the card glowed a little brighter, a little more vibrantly. Satisfied, Kaoru turned to leave.

The girl's cell phone rang.

"Hello," the girl said, eyes never leaving the page of the book, "Oh hi, Misao." A pause. "No, I don't know where you put your photocopier card." A longer pause. Kaoru could hear Misao's panicked voice from where she stood. "Okay, relax! I'm sure it's in your room somewhere! Have you checked your de-"

As if pulled by an invisible string, the girl turned to face her own desk. Her eyes almost swept across it, but something tugged at the corner of her eye, demanding to be noticed. And there, on the edge of her table, was a photocopier card.

"Oh _crap_," she muttered. Returning her attention to the phone, she said quickly, words almost stumbling over each other, "Misao I'm so sorry please don't kill me but I forgot that I borrowed your card yesterday to photocopy that stupid text Yamada wanted us to annotate and-"

Kaoru exited the room. When she turned the lock into place she could still hear Misao's yell ringing in her ears.

* * *

"By the way Sano, care to explain the mess you left in the photocopier card section?"

They were in a small café in Italy, having lunch. It was a tradition of sorts, having lunch together at some random place in the world at least once a month. They were probably breaking quite a few rules doing it – after all, filling their stomachs was hardly a valid reason for staying completely visible outside The Void. But no one ever stopped them, and the Elders hadn't mentioned it through their usual deliberate insinuations and threats, so she thought that they were probably allowed this small luxury. After all, nobody liked to spend too much time inside The Void.

Sanosuke looked up from the plate of spaghetti he was in the process of inhaling. Slurping the last of it into his mouth, he replied, "What mess?"

Kaoru chewed her own mouthful of pasta before pointing her fork at him, "Don't play dumb. I know it was you. Why were you looking for a Tokyo U card? And why couldn't you have just looked for it under T?"

"I did! But when I was pulling it out the stack kinda…collapsed onto the other stacks. Don't look at me like that, it's true! And stop pointing that fork at me, Missy! Jeez, didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

Kaoru lowered her fork, only to stab it into a meatball seconds later. Sano flinched. "And you couldn't have cleaned up after yourself?"

"I was in a hurry." Sano muttered.

"What, your pants were on fire?"

"No! And I'm not lying, c'mon Missy, you know me better than that! I was-"

Sano paused abruptly as a waiter came to take their empty plates away. In a stroke of brilliance, he asked for dessert to be served. The thought of dessert always put Kaoru in a good mood. _Well, in a better mood anyway._

Eyeing the waiter as he walked out of earshot, Sano leaned over. "You know that case I've been working on? The girl who lost her will?"

"That Megumi girl? You've been working on her for months now."

"Yeah, well," Sano grinned at her, "finally had a breakthrough today. Managed to persuade her to go to med school and all. But the thing is, the deadline for the application is this afternoon, and the nearest photocopying shop's the one in the university itself. But she isn't a student _yet_ so she doesn't have a card-"

"-So you left one outside her door for her to _accidentally_ find."

"Yep. And I had to do it quick too, before she changed her mind again."

Dessert came. Kaoru stared down at her impeccably presented tiramisu and sighed. "Okay. Fine. Just remember to tidy up before Saitou sees it. You know how he is with messes."

Sano winced. "Yeah, gotcha loud and clear, Missy."

They ate in silence for a while. Sano knew better than to interrupt while Kaoru was "communing" with the food. After she swallowed the first few mouthfuls he spoke up.

"So what did you get today?"

"The usual. A couple of missing wallets. A few missing kids in the supermarket. Then I set up some stuff for the lost memory guy. The carnival that's going over to his town should be able to remind him of his father. Oh and Misao lost her photocopier card. Again."

Finishing his panna cotta, Sano set his spoon down and casually leaned back against his chair. "Planning on seeing the guy who lost his way later?"

Kaoru looked up, swallowing her mouthful of tiramisu. Sano was looking at her far too shrewdly for her liking.

"Yeah, I think I might be paying Kenshin a visit later," she said guardedly, lowering her gaze to her dessert.

Sano let out a small sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "Kaoru," he said, all traces of casualness gone from his tone. Kaoru looked up and met serious brown eyes. "Don't get involved."

"What?"

"You know the rules: don't get involved."

She let out a frustrated groan. "We've been over this Sano, I'm not getting involved."

"Yeah?" Sano raised an eyebrow in challenge. "How long have you worked on this case?"

"A couple of years."

"Exactly. You've never taken so long to close a case before."

Kaoru poked what was remaining of her dessert around her plate. It was getting less appetizing by the second. "Yeah, well, it's a guy who's lost his way, Sano. I don't think he can find it again in a few days, even with my help."

Sano growled. "Bullshit. You know as well as I do that this isn't your first lost way case. And we both know that the longest you've ever taken with a case this century was a few months-"

"That's not true! What about lost memory guy-"

"You've only been on that case for two months and I know you're close to wrapping that up already-"

"Well... I've been with Misao for _years_ now-"

"Misao doesn't count!" Sano had raised his voice in exasperation, and they were attracting a fair bit of attention. "You aren't continuously working on the same case when it comes to Misao! Just a lot of different, _small_ cases!"

"Keep it _down_, Sano! Do you want all these people to-"

"What the hell's going on with this lost way guy, Missy? I don't think it's that big of a case for you to labor over it for two frickin' _years_!"

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe it _is_ just that big of a case?" If Sano wanted to turn this into a shouting match, then by all means Kaoru would comply. "That maybe helping Kenshin find his way again isn't the simplest thing in the world, that it will take _time_ and _effort_? He's not just lost, Sano, he's _broken_. That takes more than a couple of years to fix… heck, maybe even a lifetime isn't enough."

Sano huffed and crossed his arms. "But maybe personal therapy sessions with you will be."

Kaoru narrowed her eyes. "How did you know about-"

"About you Materializing in front of this guy? Face it, Kaoru, you're already involved."

"Involved? What does that even mean anyway?" Kaoru had long since abandoned her fork – her hands were now fisted in the tablecloth. "Of course I'm involved – I was involved from the very start! We're _Finders_, Sano. We find things that people lose and return them; we help the lost get back to where they belong. You think we're not involved when we help some lost woman find her way to the nearest motel? Or when we pick up missing wallets from The Void and make them Noticed? Or maybe you getting Megumi to go to med school isn't an involvement of some sort?"

"You know what I mean!" Sano was growing frustrated, and he wanted nothing more than to knock some sense into the woman across the table. "We can prod them, influence them, nudge them in the right direction, but in the end everything boils down to them! _They_ have to be the ones to travel the distance, the ones to find the things they've lost! And that's besides point! You're involved in a completely different way because you have feelings for this guy! It's like with that wanderer in the Meiji-"

"Stop right there Sagara," Kaoru snarled coldly. "That has no place in this conversation."

"Yes it _does_. Don't you see, Kaoru? You're making the same mistake again! And you're _killing _yourself in the process! Because you know that the moment he finds his way, the moment he finds what he wants, you can't be with him anymore! So you're dragging this out as long as you can, but… But eventually he'll get it, Kaoru. He'll get it and you won't even be able to _see_ him, because you're a _Finder_, and he isn't lost anymore."

Slamming her palms on the table, Kaoru stood up. "Thanks for the meal."

And with an icy glare, she turned and stalked down towards the nearest alley, took out her keys, and disappeared into The Void.

* * *

"Hi Kenshin."

"Hello, Miss Kaoru."

Kaoru sat on the bench next to the redhead. They watched the ducks in the pond for a few moments.

"I didn't go to the cemetery today," he said.

She eyed the bouquet of white lilies sitting on his other side. "Oh? Why not?"

He hesitated. "I'm… not entirely sure myself."

"That's okay, Kenshin. You've been going there every day for the past two years now, surely-"

"No, that's not it." He turned to look at her. "Miss Kaoru, I think… I think I'm only going to go there sometimes now. On special occasions."

She turned to look at him as well, but her eyes hovered somewhere between his collar and his chin. "Then what are you going to do on the other days?"

He smiled a slow, tentative smile that was heartbreaking in its effort.

"Come here, maybe. Talk with you. _Live_."

_But eventually he'll get it, Kaoru. He'll get it and you won't even be able to _see_ him, because you're a _Finder_, and he isn't lost anymore._

She raised her eyes to meet his. Then she smiled a small, sad smile that was heartbreaking in its effort.

Eyes sincere and voice half-broken, she told him, "That sounds great."

* * *

A/N 2: Questions? You should have many, especially since I wrote this with the intention of it being sort of vague and mysterious – it's supposed to raise a lot more questions than it answers and really just pique the reader's interest. I've hinted at a load of back stories, and I do have an idea of what these stories are, but I'm not sure if I can put it down in a multi-chapter fic. It does seem a shame to leave this world alone though... maybe more drabbles in this universe? I know for one that Kenshin isn't going to let Kaoru just fade away, especially not since he might have finally found his way, but I'm not sure if Kaoru's going to let him fight for her.

But anyway, I would really like to know what you guys think about this particular sketch! Feedback is always welcome, virtual Sano plushies (complete with spaghetti and panna cotta) to those who review!


	13. Dreamscapes

A/N 1: Hello! Here's something that I was working on for a while, but left abandoned for about a year. Then the Rurouni Kenshin revival came about, I watched the trailer and read the new manga (kinema-ban) chapters, and was inspired again. This was supposed to be published to coincide with the movie's release a few days ago, but I was being a perfectionist. It was surprisingly emotional to write, I hope it pulls a few heartstrings here too.

Disclaimer: If I owned Kenshin, the live action movie would have had a worldwide release on the same day as the Japanese release.

**Sketch Thirteen: Dreamscapes**

_Time passes, and Kenshin dreams on._

* * *

He left the dojo, hoping that the girl would be sensible enough to stop her night patrols. She was brave, he had to give her that, but she was also foolish. Foolish and naïve, just as he had been, when he had believed that a bloody sword could carve open a new era.

He dreamed that night, camped out under a bridge overlooking a small river.

He dreamt of red lanterns chasing shadows in alleyways, of vicious steel tearing through moonlight, of deceit and bloodied snowflakes.

He dreamt of the light leaving a pair of dark eyes, and when he woke he tasted the same name that had been uttered far too frequently for his liking over the past ten years.

"_TOMOE!"_

* * *

He thought that if he were someone else, he could get used to it. To sunshine, to friendly bickering, to the clack of wooden swords echoing off hallowed walls. Kanryuu was in jail, he had saved another life (_hadn't he?_), and all of a sudden he thought that maybe he could get used to it.

Then night entered his room, and tauntingly his dreams came along with it.

He dreamt of three large stones and dirt under his fingernails, of feral eyes and the gnashing of wolves' teeth, of a lavender shawl forever stained red with his sins.

Yet, this time he _knew_. He knew that he was dreaming, he knew that it was the past, and he _knew_, with such absolute certainty that it almost frightened him, that when he opened his eyes he would no longer see the bloodied streets of Kyoto but a dojo bathed in the warm light of dawn.

Still, he could not help but scream silently as he once again made the rain of blood fall.

* * *

He settled down for the night, sitting in front of a fire crackling feebly on what dry twigs and leaves he had been able to find.

He had resumed his wandering again, but this time he had a destination – Kyoto. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that his dreams would follow him there.

That night, he dreamt of dry infertile soil and a choking disease, of steely determination and worn-out wrist guards, of betrayal written in ink and blood.

He also dreamt of soft, muted firefly light reflected off heartbreakingly blue eyes, of warmth he didn't deserve but nevertheless seeped under his skin, of the sound of shuffling feet and his name upon her lips.

He had started wandering again, and he had expected his dreams to follow him. But he had never, not even for the slightest moment, dreamed that she would come along too.

* * *

Everything was different now, yet everything felt the same.

He wasn't really sure what to expect anyway, now that Shishio was defeated and he no longer thought that his existence was a waste of space (it came close, but if his master taught him anything, it was that maybe his life had more _meaning_ than being the plaything of the gods). But he had thought that with such a shift in perspective, the way he saw things would've been different as well. Wasn't the sun supposed to shine a little brighter? Weren't the daily quarrels in the dojo supposed to be louder, the crack of wooden swords against each other more vibrant than before?

Everything _should_ feel different now, yet everything was the same.

He did chores in the day; and when night came, he dreamt.

He dreamt of a pair of questioning, inscrutable eyes, of the dying sun set against raven-black hair and snow-white skin, of seeds set in soil and the echo of children's laughter in the distance.

He dreamt of a stinging left cheek, of snow crunching under his sandals, of blurred vision and muffled hearing and distorted senses, of sword-silver flashing before his eyes before…before…

"_TOMOE!"_

Before the smell of white plums and blood reached his nose, and then all he could see was snow tainted with his greatest sin, all he could hear was his traitorous heart thudding loudly in his chest as hers slowed, and all he could feel was horror and despair engraved onto his cheek.

Then he dreamt that a season and an eternity passed, winter turned into spring; the snow had melted and she was gone, leaving only the faintest traces of dried blood on the earth beneath him. He dreamt that he stood up and started walking, through familiar streets and up a familiar dirt path, to a familiar place that he knew held sun and life and peace. A place where he could return to, because someone was waiting for him.

"_Okaeri nasai."_

Everything was different now, yet everything felt the same. But he didn't mind it much, because it felt as natural as going home.

* * *

He stumbled along the dirt path, eyes empty and shoulders slumped. His chest was burning, his hands were cold and his head was a mess of despair and guilt. He was tired, he was so _tired_…

He dreamt of fog and the glint of sunglasses, of the cloying scent of bloodied plum blossoms, of white hot pain that refused to release its grip-

_Please let me not be too late, please let me make it there in time, please let me protect her, ohgodohgodpleasepleaseplease letherbe_alive!

He dreamt of empty blue eyes that once held everything he believed in but lost, of an ugly mirroring scar that reflected every one of his inadequacies, of a sword in a heart he could never deserve.

He dreamt that he was crumbling, his heart shattering as his soul screamed with loss, with an agony that had killed him once before; he could not possibly survive a second time. He dreamt that he was trapped, directionless in the once familiar darkness, the only tangible thing his sword in his hand.

_But what use is a sword without someone to protect?_

He dreamt of the light leaving a pair of bright eyes, and when he woke and tasted that different but familiar name; he knew that he had not been dreaming at all.

"_Kaoru."_

* * *

He sat on the veranda, looking up at the full moon with a warm cup of tea in his hands. Only two people lived in the dojo now, and while the days could be as noisy as ever, the nights were quiet.

He looked over at the woman next to him, her shoulder and head leaning against one of the wooden pillars as she slept. She had dozed off when the conversation started to lull, fading into a comfortable silence that they had slowly familiarized themselves with over the past couple of months.

He sipped his tea and listened – to her deep, even breaths, to the soft tinkling of the wind chime overhead, to the low chirping of cicadas. And when he finished his tea he set the cup down and moved over to gather the woman in his arms, soothing her barely conscious protests with a hum of assurance as she buried her face into his neck.

After he tucked her into her blankets and shut the sliding door, he washed the tea set and went back into his room, laying down to sleep.

That night, he did not dream.

But he thought he might have heard an old smile and tasted a new laugh.

* * *

He slowly squatted in the corner of the vegetable garden, mindful of his stiff joints. His hair was partly gray now, and the corners of his eyes were more pronounced. Digging his hands into the yielding soil, he pulled out a couple of radishes for dinner, smiling as he heard his son in the dojo, counting down the strokes for his beginner students.

They had dinner together for the first time in a while – his son had been busy these past weeks chasing after the daughter of a nearby dojo's master. When they were done they cleaned up, quietly slipping into roles that had not been inhabited lately but were never forgotten. He gathered the dishes and wiped the table, his son washed the dishes and his wife dried them. As he cleaned the dinner table he heard his wife's teasing laugh drift from the kitchen and his son's voice rising defensively, a blush tinting his words.

They took their tea out on the veranda, making gentle conversation about nothing in particular. A warm summer breeze blew across the garden, and the bright tones of the old wind chime weaved through the air. He smiled and sipped his tea as his wife and son entered a mock argument, her hand still warming his as she turned around to hit his son on the head.

He performed his nightly routine of checking the grounds and locking the gates before entering their room. His wife was already in bed, and when he slipped in next to her she turned to face him, brushing her lips across the fading scar on his cheek before settling against his chest. He slipped his arm across her waist and brought her closer, savoring the light smile on her lips and her breaths against his neck as his eyelids drooped.

And for the first time in a long while, he dreamt.

He dreamt of a bright pink sky, of a frog that meowed, of a line of ducks that marched towards a river, only to turn into rice balls as they hit the water. He dreamt of a log that melted into silk when he sat on it, of a hard-boiled egg setting over the horizon, of a pair of sandals that walked themselves across the sky, leaving clouds behind them. He dreamt of worms holding parasols and crossing a bridge, of bears scattering stars into a field, of flowers that bloomed from kimonos, as vibrant as the children wearing them.

He slowly rose to consciousness the next morning, blinking bleary eyes at the dark hair splayed across his arms. As he shifted his wife stirred, and blue eyes gazed at him, the remnants of a dream lingering at their edges.

A wry smile played on his lips. "I just had the strangest dream… The sky was pink, and ducks turned into rice balls," he told her.

His wife's mouth opened in surprise and confusion, before turning upwards into a familiar smile. And as he told her about his dream, their laughter echoed through the house, warming wooden panels dampened by the morning dew.

And slowly but surely, Himura Kenshin no longer remembered at night. He _dreamed_.

* * *

A/N 2: I've always wanted to chart Kenshin's character development through his dreams. It occurred to me when I was re-reading the manga that Kenshin never really dreams, he _remembers_. He has flashbacks, and maybe nightmares (the two are kinda equivalent anyway), but never dreams the sort of irrelevant, weird dreams that are simply that – dreams. So I thought that one way to really show that he is truly at peace would be for him to have a strange dream totally unrelated to his past. Or his present. Just something that has nothing to do with real life whatsoever, as dreams usually are.

I had to take a pretty macro-level view of Kenshin's entire journey to write this, and when you think about all the ups and downs he's been through, getting hope only to have it torn to shreds – I really _feel _for this man. And I think that's saying something about Watsuki's writing, being able to portray a character that is so layered, so sympathetic, so _real_. I hope the different stages of his life were obvious enough (I didn't want to explicitly state where in the RK timeline each section was), but above that, I hope I did Kenshin and his character development justice.

But enough about me, what do you guys think? As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

(And are you excited about the Kenshin revival that's happening? I know I am! I just wish the movie would get an international release already...)


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